Sister Mom

A Story by indiepenjen

A young girl copes with an emotionally disconnected and overly religious mother.

Chapter 1

Closet Shopping

I picked at the tan pleather seat below me as my mom steadily held the wheel that moved the car at 27 MPH. That’s what the car clock said. It pointed its only hand to it. I think the car clock was jealous of real clocks because they had two hands, and that was why it never went all the way around. I used both of my hands to open the window. It always got stuck. Lazy window. It was cooler now, and the wind pushed my blonde hair around. The backs of my thighs were covered by pants, just like the rest of my legs, and they couldn’t stick to the seat anymore. Good thing I didn’t wear my favorite shorts. I’d be stuck here forever.

There was a little hole in the seat that I had picked all the stuffing out of. I didn’t like that empty space, so I started filling it with Good Luck pennies that I found. Good Luck pennies are the ones you find heads up somewhere, like in the park or in the hallway at school. If it’s tails up, don’t touch it because that one’s a Bad Luck penny. I never touched the tails-up ones. I never stepped on the cracks either, if I could help it.

We were on our way to the Church to pick up bags of groceries. We’d get brown bags filled to the tippy top with everything from mustard, the spicy brown kind, to Froot Loops. I didn’t like mustard. Church was no fun, and extra Church was even worse, but this was the only way Toby and I ever got sugar-covered cereal. Mom said all that sugar would rot our teeth. She said it would make us hyper. She said other things too, but I forget. Lots of people go to supermarkets for food all the time. Sometimes we do too, but other times we come to the Church. Mom used to work at a supermarket. It was called the Grand Union. She had to wear a red apron and a nametag. She didn’t like that job. I think it’s because she didn’t like to wear red, and it made her feet hurt. My feet don’t hurt when I stand. Maybe it’s a grownup thing. So, in the supermarket, people push metal shopping carts with squeaky wheels and take things off shelves and put them in the carts. Then they put everything onto a counter that moves and watch as the worker makes each thing ding before another worker puts it in a bag. The people buying are happier than the people working. I wanted to ask my mom why, but her face had that hard look on it, so I didn’t.

Once in a while someone even whistles while they’re shopping. Maybe they just watched Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs again, like I did, and they liked the part where the Seven Dwarfs whistle while they work, like I do. My uncle gave me the video for Christmas last year. I watched it five times already. Wait, last Saturday makes six times. I want to watch it one more time, but Mom said too much TV will hurt my eyes. Sitting too close to the TV could even make me go blind. She said we can’t afford the Coke bottle glasses I’ll need. That’s okay with me because I checked it out once, and it just looked like a bunch of fuzzy little dots up close. I like the picture better than the dots. I don’t know why they make glasses out of Coke bottles anyway. I wonder if I’d get to drink a Coke if I had to get glasses. I bet that’s it. She’s worried the sugar in the Coke will rot my eyes and my teeth.

We parked between the white lines in the Church parking lot. I know that we were parked because when the handle sticking out of the wheel was all the way at the top, the car was in P. And P stands for park. You can only choose from: P, R, N, D, 1, 2, or 3. I haven’t figured out what the 1, 2, and 3 stand for yet. Words don’t start with numbers. I unbuckled my seat belt and started to peel myself out of the seat. It was sticky, but I made it.

Then Mom and I climbed the whole bunch of white steps in the front of the Church. I ran. Mom walked. I got there first, which made me feel good, but then I had to wait. I’m not very good at waiting. We finally opened the big wooden door and stepped inside. It was dark and cool inside, like usual. Mom dipped her pointer finger in the little water bowl by the entrance and blessed herself, not the way you bless somebody when they sneeze though. This blessing was called the Sign of the Cross, and it goes one, two, three, four. There are words that go along, but I forget them.

The priest must have heard us come in because he came out to meet us right away. He was in his black shirt with the little white square and black pants. Priests only get to wear colors on Sundays when they put on their robes. I wonder if they play dress-up when no one’s looking. There were three of us there, but only one smile. It belonged to the priest, but he didn’t really look happy. He must have forgotten to whistle while he worked. He leaned down and said “hi” to me, but I was feeling like I didn’t want to be said hi to, especially not by a man with gray hair who wasn’t my grandpa. So I just stared at the little white square on the black collar of the priest uniform. I smiled and said “hi” back, because that’s what you’re supposed to do. Because Mom told us we should smile at priests and wave to cops. That they’re our friends. Then she said not to talk to strangers. I’m still figuring it all out. I’m not friends with priests and cops, except for Uncle John. He’s a cop, but he lives in Florida so I don’t see him very often. If I don’t know the other ones, aren’t they strangers? If they’re strangers, then I shouldn’t talk to them. Oh, wait, maybe I do get it. Smiling and waving aren’t talking, so it’s not breaking the rule.

“Such a good little Catholic, aren’t you? Coming to Church with your mommy a day early.”

“Yes, Father.” I tried to think of Vaseline smiles. My ballet teacher told us that if we didn’t smile while we danced, she would put Vaseline on our teeth so that our mouths would slide into smiles automatically. Vaseline looks like jelly, but I don’t think it tastes like it. What flavor would clear be? I didn’t want to try it, so I smiled. I wonder if other kids are told to smile as much as I am. I think my trick worked because Father (the priest, not my real father) took his hands off his knees and stood up.

I didn’t understand that, either. He wasn’t my father at all. I think my mom’s in love with him. The priest, I mean. They’re always touching hands and arms and looking into each other’s eyes like they have secrets together. They sigh and nod. Maybe Mom thought he was her best friend. Maybe that was love.

Mom would rather be at Church than at home any day. I thought she wanted to run away to the Church, like some people want to run away to the circus, but she didn’t have a beard. She didn’t like noise or animals. And she didn’t like heights, either. Does that mean she’s afraid of heaven? It’s supposed to be up high, in the clouds. I’m not sure about the heaven part, but anyway, that’s probably why she likes Church better than the circus. If she ran away to the Church, the nuns would welcome her and dress her up like them, in dark colors and cross necklaces and give her an extra set of long rosary beads, just in case. They would call her Sister Mom, and she could live at the Church. Maybe that would make her happy.

“Goodbye, Father. And thank you,” Mom said, while nodding and shaking his hand up and down, like they were wind-up toys wound all the way up. They did their special handshake. He put his left hand on top of their two shaking hands and said, “Take care. God bless.” He looked at me and winked. I don’t really like it when old men wink at me. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do back, so I tried to smile like I was supposed to. I was already busy thinking about something else, too. Where were we supposed to take care to, anyway? How big was it? Did he even put any in the bags? What does it taste like, and are you supposed to eat it for breakfast, lunch, or dinner?

I insisted on carrying the Froot Loops all by myself to the car. I hugged the box to my chest and put my arms all the way around it, but I didn’t squeeze. I wanted to make sure nothing would happen to them. I wouldn’t let anything come between me and my tooth-rotting breakfast. No crack in the sidewalk, no unlucky penny would stop me.

I clicked my seatbelt back on and waited for Mom to move the steering wheel handle to R, for reverse. While I waited, I stuck my finger into the hole in the seat and checked like always to make sure all my pennies were still in place. They were. All my good luck was safe. I hope that it gave the car some luck too. I think it needed it because sometimes it would stop in the middle of the street, and Mom would have to turn the keys again. She always whispered to herself when that happened. I might need to make the hole bigger soon so I can help more. The hole was already getting full, but no one can have too much luck. I’d have to make sure mom wasn’t looking at me in the car’s mirror when I did that.

I wonder how many pennies there are in the universe. It would be really cool if pennies could make babies all by themselves. Then there would be more luck every time I looked. If they could, in a year or two, we could tear open the seat to find thousands, millions of pennies? How would we know which ones were Mommy pennies and which ones were baby pennies? We would need a new car though if the whole backseat was taken over by pennies. I guess we could use the pennies to buy a new car. A million pennies would be enough, I think. It would take a long time to count them all. Mom and I would have to count up to fifty and then wrap them up in the little brown wrappers, just the two of us. I can count higher than fifty, but that’s the way you have to do that if you want to give pennies to the bank. I definitely need to find some more Good Luck pennies.

Chapter 2

Sunday Drive

Squishing myself further into the seat, I was hoping I could force myself to stick. I was almost happy to wear the stupid pink dress because it meant my thighs would stick to the seat. Maybe I could get the top layer of pleather to peel off, and then I could stick wherever I wanted to.

The Church bells got louder as we wheeled into the parking lot. They weren’t real bells anymore, either. They got the electric kind for Christmas. I wasn’t sure if the bells were tired, but they were cheating.

“Mom, why doesn’t the Church get a new tape?” my little brother Toby asked.

“Tradition, honey, tradition.”

“But I thought tradition was Thanksgiving,” I chimed in. All I knew was they sounded like doorbells. Even if the angels were dying to get inside and let us know by going ding-dong, Toby and I were definitely not excited and would give them our seats. It could be our good deed for the day. That’s giving, not sinning. There’s a difference.

Mom pulled the car between the white lines, and it stopped.

“All the way here, and no stalling. God is smiling on us today,” she said, looking at the sky through the windshield.

“Mom, I’m stuck,” I exclaimed. She leaned over and undid the seatbelt.

“No, but I’m stuck.” I made a grunt-like noise and pretended I couldn’t move my legs.

“My eyes. my eyes,” Toby exclaimed. “They’re stuck, too.” Mom was sure to be grossed out by it. She hated when we faked cross-eyes.

“Quit it, both of you. God knows exactly what you all are up to. Come on, we’re going to be late.” Mom was always so serious about getting to Church on time, like it were some magic door to another world, and it disappeared when the bells stopped. You wouldn’t like it if someone were late to your party, would you? she always said. I never really figured out why Church reminded her of a party. No one could talk except the priest, and the little wafer things were too dry and plain to be birthday cake. I guess it was all the candles. But you weren’t supposed to blow them out. Maybe Mom just needs a really good birthday party this year, so she can remember what it’s like.

Today though, she almost forgot to take Toby from the back seat. She was rushing too much to yell. That was new. The heels of her shoes clacked against the cracked sidewalk, and she didn’t even notice all the cracks she was walking on. I tiptoed through the dangerous part. Toby tried, but he got a few. He’s littler than me, so maybe he’ll get littler bad luck, too.

Mom said Church would cleanse her, even though we all already showered the germs off us with anti-bug Dial soap. I wish it worked on mosquito bugs, too, but they still make me itchy. Mom ran up the stairs, leaving Toby and me at the bottom, looking up. I grabbed his hand, and we walked up the “big huge steps”, as Toby put it. Where were the angels? They could pick us up, and we could all fly to the door. Mom waited at the top, tapping her foot but not matching the chiming. Right on a crack, too! Mom never really liked dancing, and I could see why. She was moving too fast for the doorbell-music. She motioned us through the glass double doors and up the middle aisle.

“But, Mom, I’m too young to get married,” I whined as I stretched as tall as I could and wiggled my fingers to get some holy water on my fingertips.

“So am I, honey, so am I,” Mom muttered back.

The Church’s perfume was incense. It smelled thick and smoky. It was stuck inside a ball with holes that looked like a big, huge jawbreaker on a chain. The priest walked around hitting the ball against the chain to make a noise. Mom always told us it wasn’t respectful to make extra noise, but the priest did. He walked around slowly, letting the smoke puff out everywhere. Like Dad said, “Where there’s smoke, there’s fire.” I watched that ball so hard. That way, I’d be the first to see it, and I could run away and be safe. I was always ready to stop, drop, and roll like my teacher taught me at the fire drills.

Chapter 3

Mimosa Water

The smell I loved the best was from the pink feathery flowers hanging from the tree in grandma’s front yard. I picked up all the blossoms that I could reach or that were waiting on the ground and stuffed them into my red sand pail. I ran up the front steps and into the house. I snuck past Grandma, resting in her recliner in the living room, and brought my perfume-to-be into the kitchen.

“Grandma, I’m gonna make toilet water.” I shouted toward the living room.

“What?” She shouted back.

When Grandma only said one word at a time, I knew it was time for Jeopardy. As soon as the first note of the opening music played, Grandma set her recliner back and swizzled a gin and tonic. Sometimes, if she’d been having a rough day, she’d let out warm air with a sigh and snuggle against the recliner. For the next hour, she always wanted to be left alone, just her and Alex Trebek. Grandpa got to hold the remote, but he knew he couldn’t use it for one more hour.

“O.D. Toilet”, that’s what the lady in Macy’s had called the newest scent she was trying to sell to Mom the other day. Mom didn’t buy it, and I was glad. I couldn’t believe where perfume came from. How could something that smelled so pretty come from the toilet? Who was the magician that could change it? They never showed that on the magic shows, only people being cut in half and big things disappearing. I told myself this perfume was okay. It couldn’t be O.D. Toilet, since I was making it myself, and I was far away from the bathroom.

I pulled the silver chain, and the pantry light came on. Letting go of the chain meant listening to it slither against the bare light bulb’s side. It sounded like a snake had put on a metal suit and was squirming over a glass floor. Maybe he didn’t like the suit.

I pulled a pot from the bottom shelf and tugged on the chain again. I sat the pot on the stove and tilted my head to see how crooked it was on the burner. It was dented all over and had black streaks and spots, or pot-scars, as Grandma called them. It didn’t look the same as the scar I had on my knee from kickball at recess. I guess pots and people heal differently. Grandma also said this pot was well-loved. How could you love a pot poorly? How could you love a pot at all? When I had asked Grandma, she just laughed and put the next tray of pierogis in front of me to pinch.

“Do these need love too?” I asked.

“Everything and everyone need love, Julie.”

Grandmas can be so smart sometimes.

I turned the faucet marked “C” for cold. The pot filled up quickly, and I tried to be careful not to spill. Climbing onto the cushioned chair that hissed when you sat on it, I put the pot onto the front burner and turned the knob to “Hi”. It was such a friendly setting. The flames rushed to hit the bottom of the pot and soon bubbles were everywhere. I threw in handfuls of mimosa at a time, stirring them all together.

“Who is JFK?” I heard Grandma shout at the TV. I kept stirring. “Ooh, the Daily Double. I’ll wager all of it, Alex.” Grandma always wagered all of it. Alex should know that by now. Staring down into the boiling water, the mimosa looked like pink seaweed floating in the pot. I wondered how long I should cook it for. I figured I probably shouldn’t taste-test it, but I could smell-test it instead.

To the sound of my grandmother shouting, “What is the Great Wall of China?” I put my face above the pot, pushed my nose a little closer, and sniffed. It didn’t smell like flowers anymore. Well, maybe dead ones. It had actually turned into toilet water , the bathroom kind, not the pretty bottled kind. I jumped down from the chair, and started coughing like crazy. As my body let air out, the chair cushion sucked air back in slowly.

When I looked at the stove again, a boiling mimosa waterfall was spilling over the edge of the pot. I ran over to switch the knob to “Bye”. It seemed like the whole pot of water poured onto my hands. I howled in pain and jumped around the kitchen tile, my socks getting wetter and wetter with each hop.

“Final Jeop"” Grandma called out. “Julie! Are you okay?”

All I did was whimper and watch my hands turn bright red. Grandma burst into the kitchen.

“All right, what happened?”

“I burned myself.”

Grandma glanced around, from the stove to the pot to the floor, and then back to me.

“What in God’s green earth were you doing?”

“Making perfume.”

Grandma sighed. “Come on, let me see those hands.”

She made me run them under cold water while she got the burn cream ready. The white lotion smelled a little like sour cream and cough drops, but it still felt good and cold on my hands that now had a heartbeat. Grandma told me to go catch the Final Jeopardy answer while she cleaned up. I sat down on the Pine Glade-scented sand-colored couch, and watched the three contestants write down how much money they wanted and their answers in the worst handwriting I’d ever seen. Ms. Rolando would never let us get away with that in penmanship class. And I’m only in the third grade. I looked at my hands and wondered if they’d be all better by the time I had to go to school tomorrow morning. They were still bright pink, almost the color of mimosa, I thought to myself. Maybe I’d start to smell like mimosa now.

“What was the answer?” Grandma asked as she lay back into her recliner.

“Something about the trans-at-land-tick…I don’t know, Grandma. It was a big, long word.”

Grandma nodded and switched the TV off. It was time for her nap. Her head fell back, her mouth was slightly open, and strange snoring sounds squeezed out from between her dentures. I curled up onto the couch. My hands rested just below my nose, and as I nodded off, I swear I could smell mimosa on them.

Chapter 4

In the Beginning

“Stand up, you two. This is the opening hymn, not marching band,” Mom hissed from the side of her mouth. One eye was on the altar, but the other was staring at us. Toby and I stood up. Mom was afraid of cross-eyes, but the way she could look in two places at the same time almost made me want to pray. We were faced with the wood pew. It wasn’t like Pepe LePeu. It just sounded like it. There were no cartoons at Church, but at least it didn’t smell like skunk. We weren’t allowed to stand on the knee rests, so the wood was our Church TV. It only had one channel and it was always the same thing: wood. Only the sounds changed. There was singing, talking, bells, pages turning. With one look at each other, Toby and I turned and climbed onto the bench, put our hands over our hearts, and waited solemnly for the song to end. Mom started hissing at us through the side of her mouth again. I wondered if she could make her mouth say two different things at the same time, too. Then she’d be able to keep singing and yell at us at the same time.

“Get down from there. Would you two quit it? God sees everything you’re doing.” I waved to the ceiling, and Toby joined me, giggling.

After that, my wooden desk at school reminded me about Church. For a long time, every morning when we said the Pledge of Allegiance at school, I really wanted to climb onto the seat of my desk, kneel, and fold my hands in prayer.

Chapter 5

News Flash

The teachers were all whispering together that morning, like they were all planning one big scary pop quiz. It seemed like no one cared about us learning that day. One of the big kids said that we were all going to be put into jail. But I didn’t see any handcuffs, and one of the rules about going to jail is you have to be in handcuffs.

“Did you see it on TV?” Ms. Rolando asked.

“I can’t believe they could do such a thing,” said Mrs. Sorren.

“It’s because they’re so oppressed. They can’t even imagine freedom,” Ms. Rolando said knowingly.

“They have no respect, burning it like that. We give them aid, you know,” said Mr. Thompson.

Burning? Were other people having trouble making toilet water like me? I thought.

“At least we know where the civilized people are now,” Ms. Rolando said.

“You wouldn’t be saying that if you were there,” said the new sub, Ms. Letiah. “Maybe we’d do the same in their shoes.”

“They don’t even wear shoes,” replied Mrs. Sorren.

I decided they weren’t talking about toilet water at all.

After lunch, the teachers’ room door was open. The teachers’ room was where some kids say they put the teachers together and repaired their robot parts. Now I could see it for myself! There were long legs standing, or crossed in chairs nearby. I didn’t see any toolboxes or robot parts. There must be another room. If only I could get inside!

The only thing I could see was a TV with no cartoons. Just the news. I guess the news reporters were lazy because they kept showing the same thing over and over again. The American flag was burning and people were shouting. I think it was somewhere far away because they couldn’t speak English, but then again, maybe it was just somewhere in New York City.

Chapter 6

The Body of Christ

I was still new to receiving the-body-of-Christ-Amen. After my First Communion, I thought that maybe I’d like Church more. But I was wrong. All I got was a new problem. The host was a cardboard-flavored wafer that stuck to the roof of my mouth no matter what I did. It wasn’t very yummy, but I thought maybe that was because it was the body of Christ. That worried me. Just a few prayers, and suddenly, it’s somebody’s skin. My stomach didn’t feel good when I thought about it. Was this supposed to be a sacrifice like the priest always talked about before the money basket came around?

The priest stepped forward with the altar boys and held up the golden bowl filled with pieces of bodies. The boys held little golden trays to stick under people’s chins if they took the host on their tongues. I wonder if that’s what Dad meant when he said he “takes it straight”, right there on the tongue with nothing in the way. Mom nudged me, I nudged Toby, and the three of us slid out of the right end of the pew. Watching her long flowery skirt move with her legs, I walked behind her. She stepped slowly, one foot at a time, toward the priest. It was about the same pace as when we were in the food pantry. One step at a time. No pushing. No shoving. I wish it was more like a fire drill. Quickly and quietly to the nearest exit. Left foot. Right foot. Arms crossed and folded.

Mom’s pantyhose scraped together like peeling Velcro. When the Velcro stuck, I knew she had stopped. So I stopped too.

“The Body of Christ.”

“Amen.”

Then, the Sign of the Cross, which works like this: poke yourself in the forehead, the chest, the left shoulder, and then the right shoulder. Just don’t poke yourself in the eye. That hurts.

Next, it was my turn. I was tempted to stick out my tongue just to see if the altar boys would reach down to catch my crumbs, but I was a good girl and cupped my palms, just like they’d taught us in Communion class.

“Amen.” I popped the host into my mouth. Poke, poke, poke, poke. I’d done it as fast as I could, but the flesh was faster. It had already suctioned itself to the roof of my mouth.

People think peanut butter’s sticky. If we had any, I’d use it to scrape this stuff off. I tilted my head up, facing the domed ceiling and pushed my tongue back and forth until it had dissolved entirely. There’s a word for people who eat other people. I can’t remember it right now. But maybe it’ll be on Jeopardy later, and Grandma can tell me.

Lunchtime

A jelly sandwich. Again. The next time I’m at Church, I’m stealing a bagful of hosts to line my sandwich with. I could pretend it’s really sticky peanut butter, even if it tastes more like Styrofoam peanuts than peanuts made of butter.

“What’cha got?” My lunchtime friend, Amanda, asked.

“My favorite. A jelly sandwich.”

“You’re weird.”

“So. Like yours is better?”

“Yeah-huh, it is. Turkey and cheese. Look, I even have a pickle.” She stopped to dig deeper into her lunchbox

“And Oreos too. My mom packs the best lunches.”

I bit into my grape jelly and Wonder bread feast without a word. If I had a host and jelly sandwich, I’d tell her my sandwich was holy. Only people who eat the bodies of Christ can go to Heaven. Maybe she’d trade sandwiches with me if she thought she could be 100% sure to go to Heaven. With one triangular half to go, I felt a tug at my sleeve. “Julie, I’m still hungry.”

“Toby, how did you get away from the kindergarten table?”

“I walked,” he said, looking at me like I had just asked him who he was. “So, do you have any more sammich left?” I forked over the soggy triangle.

“Thanks, Julie,” he shouted as he ran back to his table. “Want an Oreo?” Amanda asked me with her mouth full of turkey sandwich. I took one and replied, “Thanks.”

“You’re really nice to your brother. My brother, he’s 12, and we fight all the time. He would probably laugh at me if I asked him for something. Oh, and then he’d pull my hair for sure,” Amanda told me, while chewing. I could hear Mom’s voice in my head. Keep your mouth closed when you’re eating. Chew quietly. Take small bites. Amanda opened her mouth as wide as she could and shoved the rest of the sandwich into her mouth. Her cheeks were puffed up like a chipmunk, and she was still trying to talk to me.

Chapter 7

Dinnertime, Dinnertable

Dad was working late again. It was just me and Mom and Toby. We were saying grace, which didn’t mean you said the word: grace. It meant you said a prayer and thanked God for the food on your plate. Or, it could be in a bowl. That was ok. We all said Amen. I opened my eyes. On my thankful plate I had ziti and red sauce and some stinky crumbled up cheese on top. There was a pile of green peas on the side, and a glass of milk to drink.

“Mom, can we get a dog?” I asked, after my third bite.

“People aren’t supposed to live with animals,” she said and wiped some red sauce off Toby’s face.

“But what about Blondie?” I asked. Blondie was my parakeet. He wasn’t really blonde, because he had green and yellow feathers. But we liked the name. He liked it too. I think. We knew it was a boy because his nose was blue. That’s what the pet shop man said.

“Blondie was a present from your aunt. That’s why we kept him, but he’s gone now. I need some peace and quiet around this house. Your father does, too.” Someone left Blondie’s door open, and he tried to fly away. He hit a window and hurt his head really bad. Now he’s gone. I missed him. He was so soft. I was going to teach him tricks, but now I can’t.

I wasn’t very hungry anymore and started to move the ziti around in the sauce, but I never put any in my mouth. Mom sure needed a lot of peace and quiet.

“You’re not leaving this dinner table until you finish, young lady, “ Mom warned me. I knew that was the rule. She had so many though. Sometimes I forgot.

I think I fell asleep at the dinner table because when I woke up, Dad was carrying me upstairs to my bed. “Sleep tight. We’re going bowling tomorrow, remember?” Dad said. I nodded. I didn’t open my eyes because I still had sleepies stuck in them. He tucked me in and kissed my forehead. “Good night, Pumpkin.” I wished he would come home for dinner more. I opened one eye to find a star light, star bright to tell my wish to.

Chapter 8

Bumpers and Gravy

These shoes were the ugliest things ever. Red and blue patches, a totally gross smell, and a number on the back. Was that what Dad meant when he said we’re all just a bunch of numbers? I picked up the orange bowling ball with both hands and swung it between my legs. It wobbled down the shiny lane, grazing the sides of the long blue plastic cushions that were meant to protect my turns from ending up in the gutter. Maybe that’s what our neighbor Joey needs. Mom says he has a gutter mouth. I wonder what’s in the gutter that he likes it so much. I bet she’d be mad if I walked in the gutter. But what if you lose your mind, like Dad always talks about, and it rolls into the gutter? Are you allowed to reach in and take it back?

“Julie, kiddo, you’re up,” Dad called to me. I looked up and saw that I had knocked down four. Six to go. “It’s just me and you, Orangeball,” I whispered to it. Then, I gave it a little hug. After I sent the ball rolling, I went back to the little table where you were supposed to keep score and watched as Dad helped Toby. The bowling ball was bigger than Toby’s head and rounder too.

That’s when I smelled it. French fries. But they were different, browner. A lady with really tight jeans walked by with a plate of them and a fork sticking out, holding a cigarette in her other hand. What was that sauce? The only ketchup I know is red. I wondered what it could be through Dad’s turn. He said he got a spare. I think that’s good. Then, what Mom would call a “hooligan” walked by with a plate of them. He and his friends all dug in and seemed to really like them. They did smell delicious. I wish I could taste them. As I wondered, I noticed what one of the hooligan’s t-shirts said: “Rage Against the Machine.” I didn’t really understand.

“Dad, what’s rage?”

“It’s when someone is really angry.”

“And a machine is... ”

“There are all kinds of machines. That thing that gives you your bowling ball back, a car, a washing machine.”

“A refrigerator?”

“Yeah, honey, that’s one too. You ready? Last turn.”

“OK, Dad.”

As I hugged Orangeball, I was still really confused. How could someone be so angry with a refrigerator or a washing machine. I guess if it’s broken, but rage sounds so scary. Do some people hate machines? Maybe they want them all to be broken. Do some machines hate people? Maybe they feel used. Is that racism? It doesn’t seem like hating refrigerators does anyone any good. Hooligans are weird.

Chapter 9

Halloween

“But, Mom, it’s a kid holiday,” I pleaded.

“No, I will not have you walking around in the dark for some pagan ritual and free candy that’s just going to rot your teeth,” Mom said.

“I promise I’ll brush them twice.”

“No.”

“Please…”

“Three times. Please, please…”

Toby joined me for an extra round of pleases.

“Kimberly said I could borrow her costume from last year. Her mom will come with us. You can call her.”

The doorbell rang. We stopped and looked at it. Mom went to the door and opened it.

“Trick-or-treat,” a witch, Batman, and a doctor shouted.

“Sorry, we don’t have any more candy,” Mom said.

That was a lie! We never had any candy at all! If the priest knew, maybe he wouldn’t shake hands with Mom anymore. She closed the door and started to walk away. The doorbell rang again. Mom sat down on the couch, so I went to the door, and asked, “Who is it?”

“Julie, is that you, sweetie? It’s Kimberly’s mom.” I opened the door.

“Hi, Mrs. Doogan. Hi, Kimberly.”

Kimberly was dressed up like a princess and had a pretty pink dress with lots of sparkly things stuck to it and a crown. Her mom had pumpkin earrings on.

“Hi, honey. We came to see if you still wanted to come trick-or-treating with us. Where’s your mom?”

“She’s in the living room,” I said, but Mom came out before Mrs. Doogan moved at all. Kimberly started talking about too many things and I couldn’t listen to her because I wanted to know what my mom would say. It was hard to hear all the way into the living room.

“Julie, Julie, are you OK?” Kimberley asked me.

“My mom doesn’t like Halloween. I don’t think I’m going with you.” Our moms came back into the room then. Mrs. Doogan had a sad look when she smiled at me. She held out a shopping bag. Mom walked away.

“Put this on,” she said. My eyes got big, but not crossed, and I smiled for real. I took the costume out of the bag and put it right over my clothes. I was Rainbow Brite. I had a plastic mask and her dress. I looked like a cartoon. Mom came back with Toby. He was still sniffling from crying, but he was dressed in his baseball pajamas and had a baseball cap on.

“Come on, let’s trick-or-treat,” said Mrs. Doogan with a big smile. The kids all ran outside.

“Just to the end of the block for them, Mary,” I heard Mom say.

“Sure, Carolyn, don’t worry,” Mrs. Doogan said back.

One block, I thought. One stinking block! I got a little bit sad, but I would get some candy after all. Mrs. Doogan came outside, and we walked over to the first house.

“Trick-or-treat!” we shouted. We held our hands out, ready to receive the best Communion ever. Kimberly had a special Halloween bag with a picture of a haunted house on it. The old man who opened the door put a piece in each of our hands. We said thank you and smiled. Then he closed the door. I put my candy in my pocket. Toby didn’t have pockets, so I put his in my other pocket. What if we went three or four blocks, and my pockets got bigger than my lunch buddy Amanda’s cheeks?

We only went to six houses. That was the whole block. Mrs. Doogan kept her promise and took us home. Mrs. Doogan had that sad smile again when she said good-bye. Mom made us go to bed right away. In the morning, all the candy was gone. I guess that’s the trick part. Maybe I’ll get to the treat part next year.

Chapter 10

The Sign of Peace

Whoever made the Church really liked shaking hands. The only time we escaped the boring Church TV was when it was time for the sign of peace. At this part you could turn around, walk down your row, and talk. You could only say, “Peace”, but it was still better than standing and singing or sitting and listening. I tried to shake as many hands as I could. The most I ever got was 14. But Mom got mad if I left our row. How could I say peace to everyone if I had to stay in one place? I wondered if people made friends because of peace and shaking hands. Would they be real friends or Church friends? When I made friends at school, we didn’t shake hands. Mom and Dad didn’t shake hands either. Maybe we all need to. Maybe this was the missing piece. Or was this part of how Mom got her peace and quiet? Is that why she liked Church so much?

Almost as soon as it started, the sign of peace was over. It was like playing Red Light, Green Light, like Toby and I played in Grandma’s yard. One second the light would be green, and you’d run like crazy. Then, before you knew it, the light was red again. If you moved, you were out. Maybe Church is just full of red lights and yellow lights. If there was a yellow light, you could move in slow-motion. Some people didn’t play with that rule though. Everyone has their own rules. I don’t know how we’re all supposed to play together, if we all do it differently.

Chapter 11

Don’t Cross Out the Christ in Christmas...

for chrissakes, it’s his birthday!

After the fourth advent candle was lit, after the last batch of cookies was baked, I sat next to the rootless tree in my living room. It was even scrawnier this year. The garland was shoved strategically into the gaps between the branches and the tacky ornaments, the plastic balls with funny paintings of Santa, reindeer, and angels all over them. I think the elves rushed them, that’s why they were on sale at K-mart. We mixed those ugly K-mart balls with the baked clay ones I had made in art class. Toby hadn’t made any of his own yet, but he would next year in first grade. I was telling Toby about how Santa would be coming soon. I know he understood. His little boy eyes completely lit up. So he knew something good was coming, but before that something good, as always, before the good...

“Kids, time for dinner,” Dad called from the kitchen. It was the night before Christmas. The four of us sat in silence the entire time. Mom had said grace, Dad had grunted Amen, Toby looked around, and I stared at the awful vinyl tablecloths full of burn holes where pots and pans had slipped off the hotplate, trying to escape. We were all together tonight. A family dinner. It was better than a family meeting. But none of us had anything to say. I mashed my food around for a few minutes until it was well on its way to being mush.

“May I be excused?” I asked. I may as well have fired a gun for the startled looks on my parents’ faces my words caused.

“Sure, kiddo,” my dad started.

“But she hasn’t even eaten a bite!” My mom started in on Dad first. Then she turned to me and shouted, “God doesn’t want us wasting all his food. What about all the starving children?”

“Just let her go. She’s not hungry,” Dad said in a calm voice.

“It is Christmas Eve, Steven,” Mom hissed out of the side of her mouth. She had one eye on Dad and the other one on me. Then Mom got up from the table.

“Now my stomach’s in a knot,” she shouted as she walked away.

I should have known better than to break the silence. I slipped away, taking Toby with me, and we went and sat. This time directly under the tree. I told him about how when he was a little older we could climb trees together. Big ones with roots. Maybe we could even get a treehouse.

On Christmas morning, there was definitely no treehouse in or under the tree. Too bad, I thought, it would have been fun. Instead, there were new Hanes Her Way for Girls undies with Barbie. Toby got Superman on his Hanes for Boys underwear. Superman was so much cooler. If his were bigger, I’d have asked him if he wanted to switch. We always got underwear, every year. Besides underwear, it would be a toss-up between books or art supplies. Sometimes it was two-for-one, with a coloring book or a paint-by-number book. Santa could be so predictable. Toby still got the chubby crayons with his coloring books, but at least I was big enough for a brush or two with the watercolor set.

Toby and I put the brand-new underwear on our heads and began to play with the only fun present Santa had brought, the board game, “Guess Who?” Between the pink elastic-legholes around my ears, I heard Toby say, “Does he have glasses?”

My ears perked up to the slamming cabinets and pauses that signaled under-the-breath curse words. “Yeah, they both do,” I answered, ignoring the little cardboard rectangle picture of Susan, who did not have glasses, but was the “who” to be guessed.

“Both? Hey, are you cheating?”

“No, guess who?”

Toby looked past the game board, past me, into the kitchen. We couldn’t make out words, only anger, and trying-to-be-quiet shouting.

“Keep the Christ in Christmas,” the banner in Church had said. OK. If you say so. I was about to throw the K-mart baby Jesus from our small, plastic Nativity set into the kitchen to remind them, but before I could, Mom stormed out. She grabbed one of the olive green vinyl suitcases my parents had kept as relics from what they called the 70s and packed, never once stopping to take a breath. God must have told her she couldn’t stop yelling. Not even for a second. She sure was good at listening to Him. She threw the green vinyl onto the tan pleather and off she went. 27 MPH into the Christmas sunset. Off to join the Church-circus, I figured.

After we knew who “Guess Who?” was and a few more doors slammed, the house was still. I was afraid that if I moved, the walls and windows would all shatter into a bajillion pieces that I could never clean up. Since I didn’t have a treehouse to move into in case of emergency, I stayed put. I sat there, cross-legged until my legs were filled with pins and needles, and my eyelashes pressed together more and more often to try to stop the tears. When they decided to stop fluttering, I remembered dreaming that a big bear had scooped me up and put me in his cave to sleep. I woke up on the couch, covered in the blue and pink afghan, which according to Mom, represented Toby and me bring together. How could we be together if we’re separate? At least we lived in the same house.

I kept it wrapped around me as I headed to the kitchen. The linoleum felt colder than usual. Maybe that’s why the edges curled up, I thought, the floor’s trying to keep warm. My spoon dipped into the silver mixing bowl which apparently was never-ending. The milk turned pink, and Toucan Sam was just lying on the floor. Once I ate the last Froot Loop, they would be gone. The milk could never turn white again. I looked into Toucan Sam’s eyes, and I knew he couldn’t bring Blondie back. So he definitely couldn’t bring my mom back. She must like those nuns, I thought. Somewhere between the spoon entering my mouth and mid-chew, I remembered that the Church doesn’t come to town like the circus does. What if she joined a Church far away? Or one in New York? I couldn’t eat another loop. Dropping the spoon into the not-for-cereal bowl, I watched it sink past the pink to the bottom. I excused myself from myself at the kitchen table and pulled on my purple winter jacket and my, of course, pink boots, the ones with the balloons on the sides that changed color in the cold. That day, my plastic soles smashed down on concrete as I stomped on every crack in the sidewalk. That night, I prayed to Sister Mom.