Our bedroom is
God’s yellow face comes up, we’re watching out the window. “Do you notice,” says Ma, “it’s a bit earlier every morning?” There’s six windows in our Independent Living, they all show different pictures but some of the same things. My favorite is the bathroom because there’s a building site, I can look down on the cranes and diggers. I say all the
In the living room I’m doing my Velcro because we’re going out. I see the space where the vase used to be till I threw it. “We could ask for another for Sundaytreat,” I tell Ma, then I remember.
Her shoes have laces that she’s tying. She looks at me, not mad. “You know, you won’t ever have to see him again.” “Old Nick.” I say the name to see if it sounds scary, it does but not very.
“I’ll have to just one more time,” says Ma, “when I go to court. It won’t be for months and months.” “Why will you have to?”
“Morris says I could do it by video link, but actually I want to look him in his mean little eye.”
Which one is that? I try and remember his eyes. “Maybe
“You’re like a clown.”
“It’s just makeup,” she says, “so I’ll look better.”
“You look better always,” I tell her.
She grins at me in the mirror. I put my nose up at the end and my fingers in my ears and wiggle them.
We hold hands but the air is really warm today so they get slippy. We look in the windows of stores, only we don’t go in, we just walk. Ma keeps saying that things are ludicrously expensive or else they’re junk. “They sell men and women and children in there,” I tell her.
“What?” She spins around. “Oh, no, see, it’s a clothes shop, so when it says
We play I Spy. We buy ice cream that’s the best thing in the world, mine is vanilla and Ma’s is strawberry. Next time we can have different flavors, there’s hundreds. A big lump is cold all the way down and my face aches, Ma shows me to put my hand over my nose and sniff in the warm air. I’ve been in the world three weeks and a half, I still never know what’s going to hurt.
I have some coins that Steppa gave me, I buy Ma a clip for her hair with a ladybug on it but just a pretend one.
She says thanks over and over.
“You can have it forever even when you’re dead,” I tell her. “Will you be dead before I do?”
“That’s the plan.”
“Why that’s the plan?”
“Well, by the time you’re one hundred, I’ll be one hundred and twenty-one, and I think my body will be pretty worn out.” She’s grinning. “I’ll be in Heaven getting your room ready.”
“Our room,” I say.
“OK, our room.”
Then I see a phone booth and go in to play I’m Superman changing into his costume, I wave at Ma through the glass. There’s little cards with smiley pictures that say
For a while we get lost, then she sees the name of the street where the Independent Living is so we weren’t really lost. My feet are tired. I think people in the world must be tired all the time.
In the Independent Living I go bare feet, I won’t ever like shoes.
The persons in Six C are a woman and two big girls, bigger than me but not all the way big. The woman wears shades all the time even in the elevator and has a crutch to hop with, the girls don’t talk I think but I waved my fingers at one and she smiled.
There’s new things every single day.
Grandma brought me a watercolor set, it’s ten colors of ovals in a box with an invisible lid. I rinse the little brush clean after each so they don’t mix and when the water goes dirty I just get more. The first time I hold my picture up to show Ma it drips, so after that we dry them flat on the table.
We go to the hammock house and I do amazing LEGO with Steppa of a castle and a zoomermobile.