House Arrest by K.A. Holt

ear.
Mary.
You’re fired.

    INTAKE
all
ripped
up
little
pieces
paper
snow
in the
trash.
I didn’t do it.
But someone did.

    He won’t talk to you. That’s all I heard
through the door
at 9:17 p.m.
after the phone rang
and Mom ran upstairs.

    Caller ID.
The number from last night
not our area code.
I pick up the phone
press the call button
my heart shoots into my throat.
This is so crazy.
Three rings, then:
Hello? My heartbeat is behind my eyes now,
in my fingertips, too.
Annie? [pause]
[pause]
I just wanted to tell him happy birthday. I drop the phone.
BAM.
Just like I would
if it were on fire.



WEEK 40
    Eighth grade.
What else can I say?
It’s better than being in juvie?
Maybe?

    Mom lost her job.
Just like that.
Snap.
Downsized. That’s the word she used.
She emptied her work bag into the trash can,
kicked off her shoes,
sat at the kitchen table,
and smiled at me,
like she had zero cares in the world.
Did you have a good day? She took a sip of water.
I could only blink.
First she fired Mary.
Then she tore up the facility intake form.
Now this?
We might have to eat the kitchen table.
But we’ll be fine. Then she laughed and laughed
and shook her head
and put her bare feet up on the table
on top of all the stacks of papers.
Why did Mom look so happy ?

    I don’t want to talk about them, Mrs. B.
The phone calls, I mean.
Can we make those off-limits?
Can we talk about never stealing again?
Or how I feel about Levi’s weird trachea?
Or what we’re going to do now that Mom has no job?
I will talk about all that stuff.
Just not the phone calls.
Please not the phone calls.

    Dear Dr. Sawyer,
In case you’re wondering,
I’m not giving up.
Things got crazy for a bit here
but even so
I will not stop e-mailing you.
We’re really going to need extra help now,
figuring out the money stuff
and the travel,
but I’m not giving up.
Not if you can help Levi.
And you can, can’t you?
The website says you can.
I won’t stop believing, Dr. Sawyer.
Just like that horrible song my mom listens to.
Always believing,
Timothy

    Tap tap tap on the front door.
I opened it wide,
ready to say good morning to Isa,
ready to see what surprise she might have.
It wasn’t Isa.
It was more of a surprise
than anything she could have had.
Marisol.
Grinning wide.
Wearing her teddy bear scrubs,
her hair pulled back in a ponytail.
Timothy! She hugged me with one arm
and ran inside
swooping Levi up
getting tangled in all the cords,
laughing.
Levi’s finger in his trach
MA MA MA MA MA.
Mom taking a picture.
Marisol is back.
Was anyone going to tell me?

    Your face, Timothy! Mom laughed and laughed.
You’d think Marisol was a ghost.
But . . . was all I could say.
My mouth couldn’t find the words,
the ones to say
I thought we lost her because of me
I thought she would never come back.
Who needs full-time nursing
when you have no job?
Marisol is back to her old schedule
while I try to find new work
and then we’ll figure something out
just like we always do, Timothy. Just like we always do.
I could only nod and smile
while Marisol tickled Levi
and his wheezy gasping laugh
filled the whole room.

    Things keep happening.
So many things
to us.
But none of the things are
things we can control,
not really . . .
Don’t you think it’s time for
things to change?
Time for us to try and
control some of the things? Time to let people help?
Let me ask about the Carnival.
Maybe they won’t even want to do it.
We won’t know
until we ask.
That’s what I said
to Mom.
For real.
With my actual mouth.
It can’t be a big deal. That’s all she said.
With her actual mouth.
Her eyes, though,
her eyes said:
People will think things about us. My mouth said:
It won’t be a big deal. My eyes said:
People already think things about us.
People already want to help with things.
All we have to do is let them.
Let them help us.
Let them help us change things.

WEEK 41
    Different