Read Online Anywhere But Here by Mona Simpson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Mona Simpson
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“Oh, no. No. You’re not going to provoke a fight so you can run outside and get out of your chores. Oh, no you don’t. You’re a smart kid, but your mother’s smarter. Now here. You take it. Let me watch you.”
She turned the vacuum cleaner on again. I picked up the handle and brushed it softly against the floor, my ears dull to the noise. Next door, someone was mowing their lawn.
“Come on, let’s get some muscle in there. Boy, you can’t do anything right, can you?” She grabbed it out of my hand and started banging the metal brush up against the wall again, her whole body slugging. “See, that’s the way. Now, do it.”
A few seconds later, she called from the back of the house,shouting over the noise of the machine. “Five times. And remember, I’m checking. So it better be clean. Or else you’re just going to do it over again.”
I looked down at the floor. I thought of the years in front of me when I would still need a mother. The hundreds of black and white squares. And I vacuumed hard, slamming the baseboards.
After six squares I looked behind me at the kitchen floor. Rows and rows and rows times five. I heard water running for my mother’s bath. The rushing water sounded musical, tempting. I looked back once and decided, I’m not going to do this. I left the vacuum cleaner going so she’d still hear the noise and I ran outside.
It wasn’t the same as before. I didn’t play kickball, because my mother could call me there. I ran the other way, past the vacant lots down to where they were building the new highway. In the woods, I remembered I could slow down. My blood was still jumping in the backs of my knees. Below, yellow bulldozers crawled in the sand. Sometimes men hiked up and gave us dollars to keep our eyes on the surveyor’s stakes, not to let anyone pull them out. The woods were going for the new highway, but we helped the men for a dollar.
I lay down and put my hands up beneath my head. Clouds moved slowly. I lay there, chewing on a piece of grass. I closed my eyes and tried to forget about myself. When it got dark I’d have to go home. I’d be in trouble again.
A rainy day after school, four, four thirty. Something in my throat. I was alone in the house. They wouldn’t be home until six or seven. The house was empty. The kitchen was dry and clean, no food in the refrigerator. It was a night we would go out to eat. Outside, it seemed damp. I sat in my bedroom, in the back of the house, facing backs of things. Fences, other people’s yards. There was nothing in my room but one bed and the old TV.
I took my clothes off and I sat on my bed, looking at myself. I hadn’t made my bed that morning, so it was a mess of sheets and the wool blanket. The old TV on the floor, a portable black and white, was playing softly, on to a comedy from the fifties. I had the volume turned down low so all I heard was the rise of thesame laugh. I’d look at the screen then, when I heard it, and watch the actors, a man and woman staring at each other. It was the same gray and white light, the television, as the sky outside, the rain on the window. I felt my arms and legs, from my shoulders to my elbows, my knees, down to my arches. I was thin, slight.
It seemed damp in the house and I was alone.
I went to my mother’s bathroom and I took an oily compact mirror from her makeup bag. Back in my room, the warm blanket felt good on my skin then. I held the greasy mirror, looking at myself.
I felt colder then. I hid the mirror under the blanket and rubbed my legs from the hip bones down to my ankles, the outsides. I clasped my fingers around my ankles. I was alone. Alone. No one was watching me. I didn’t feel like I would go anywhere anymore, like California. I knew I’d stay here in the back of the house, facing the backs of things.
My mother looked out the window while she warmed up the car. Anything not to see me. When she got mad enough at me, she took me to my grandmother’s house.
Even
She turned the vacuum cleaner on again. I picked up the handle and brushed it softly against the floor, my ears dull to the noise. Next door, someone was mowing their lawn.
“Come on, let’s get some muscle in there. Boy, you can’t do anything right, can you?” She grabbed it out of my hand and started banging the metal brush up against the wall again, her whole body slugging. “See, that’s the way. Now, do it.”
A few seconds later, she called from the back of the house,shouting over the noise of the machine. “Five times. And remember, I’m checking. So it better be clean. Or else you’re just going to do it over again.”
I looked down at the floor. I thought of the years in front of me when I would still need a mother. The hundreds of black and white squares. And I vacuumed hard, slamming the baseboards.
After six squares I looked behind me at the kitchen floor. Rows and rows and rows times five. I heard water running for my mother’s bath. The rushing water sounded musical, tempting. I looked back once and decided, I’m not going to do this. I left the vacuum cleaner going so she’d still hear the noise and I ran outside.
It wasn’t the same as before. I didn’t play kickball, because my mother could call me there. I ran the other way, past the vacant lots down to where they were building the new highway. In the woods, I remembered I could slow down. My blood was still jumping in the backs of my knees. Below, yellow bulldozers crawled in the sand. Sometimes men hiked up and gave us dollars to keep our eyes on the surveyor’s stakes, not to let anyone pull them out. The woods were going for the new highway, but we helped the men for a dollar.
I lay down and put my hands up beneath my head. Clouds moved slowly. I lay there, chewing on a piece of grass. I closed my eyes and tried to forget about myself. When it got dark I’d have to go home. I’d be in trouble again.
A rainy day after school, four, four thirty. Something in my throat. I was alone in the house. They wouldn’t be home until six or seven. The house was empty. The kitchen was dry and clean, no food in the refrigerator. It was a night we would go out to eat. Outside, it seemed damp. I sat in my bedroom, in the back of the house, facing backs of things. Fences, other people’s yards. There was nothing in my room but one bed and the old TV.
I took my clothes off and I sat on my bed, looking at myself. I hadn’t made my bed that morning, so it was a mess of sheets and the wool blanket. The old TV on the floor, a portable black and white, was playing softly, on to a comedy from the fifties. I had the volume turned down low so all I heard was the rise of thesame laugh. I’d look at the screen then, when I heard it, and watch the actors, a man and woman staring at each other. It was the same gray and white light, the television, as the sky outside, the rain on the window. I felt my arms and legs, from my shoulders to my elbows, my knees, down to my arches. I was thin, slight.
It seemed damp in the house and I was alone.
I went to my mother’s bathroom and I took an oily compact mirror from her makeup bag. Back in my room, the warm blanket felt good on my skin then. I held the greasy mirror, looking at myself.
I felt colder then. I hid the mirror under the blanket and rubbed my legs from the hip bones down to my ankles, the outsides. I clasped my fingers around my ankles. I was alone. Alone. No one was watching me. I didn’t feel like I would go anywhere anymore, like California. I knew I’d stay here in the back of the house, facing the backs of things.
My mother looked out the window while she warmed up the car. Anything not to see me. When she got mad enough at me, she took me to my grandmother’s house.
Even
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