There is someone in my house who is not my mom. She looks like her. She smells a little like her. She likes the same jazz music as her. But she has it turned up too loud, and she’s naked. She dances around the foyer like leaves in the wind, and I want to show my mom this crazy woman, but I can’t find her.
I run to my room to get my camera, the one I got for Christmas. You have to wind back with your thumb until you hear a click, then you take your picture. I snap a photo and wait for the print. A few minutes later, the image of the crazy lady is finally complete. Her messy, sweaty hair is all over her face. Her skin is pinker than my mother’s.
I look everywhere for Mom, but she’s gone. The dancing woman must be my babysitter. I sneak past her into the kitchen and have ice cream even though it will spoil my dinner. But dinner never comes. When I wake up the next morning, I realize I fell asleep with my ice cream bowl in my bed. The melted cream dried crusty on my sheets.
“Hi, sweetie,” Mom says when I come downstairs for breakfast. The kitchen smells sweet. Mom looks pretty. Her hair is curled, and she has lipstick on. She has on dad’s old robe that she’s always wearing since he went to jail. “I made chocolate chip pancakes for breakfast. Do you want one or two?”
“Two, please.” Chocolate chip pancakes are my favorite. Mom doesn’t make them a lot, because too much sugar is bad for you. She plops two fluffy ones on my plate with a smile, and I smile back. She doesn’t mention that I finished all the ice cream.
We sit at the kitchen table, sitting opposite each other. I pour syrup over my pancakes, and a lot more comes out than I’m allowed to have. I look to see if mom noticed, but she’s drinking her coffee, staring at the wall.
“Mom.”
She jumps like I scared her. “Yes, sweetie?”
“I saw this crazy lady yesterday.”
“Where, outside?”
“No, in the foyer.”
I take my photo out of the pocket of my dinosaur robe and slide it across the table. Mom’s eyes widen, and she gasps, putting her hand over her mouth. She stares at the photo for a really long time. I wait for her to laugh, but by the time I finish my pancakes, she’s still staring. Finally, she clears her throat and gives me a smile that lasts less than a second.
“Get dressed, and I’ll drop you off to school, baby.”
It’s definitely a good day, because I normally walk to school. Dad used to drive me, but then he went to jail. Mom does a good job driving, too.
Mom talks on the phone while we drive. I sit in the backseat and look out the window. I see her look at me in the mirror, but I pretend I don’t see. She hates it when I listen to her conversations. It’s “nosy.”
“Caleb saw Roxanne last night,” she says, hushed. It’s hard to hear her over the sound of the radio. “A picture…Christmas camera…no. I swear! Yes… Well, I’m alone, y’know… mhm. I hear you. Yeah… who wouldn’t be? This is not why I called you!” she says louder. I think she says a curse word. She puts her phone down and turns the radio up.
Mom must be mad because she had to fire Roxanne. I’m sad Mom is upset, but I’m happy she’s leaving. So, I’m surprised when two days later, Roxanne is in the kitchen.
Music is playing again, too loud. I can’t concentrate on my homework. Roxanne is wearing one of my dad’s old jerseys and a pair of shorts I think are mine. She sways her hips back and forth while she stirs a boiling pot. The music has no words, and she’s singing in a language I can’t understand.
She sways and sways and sways till she’s facing me. Her face is puffy and red like she’s been crying, but she looks very happy. She drops the ladle and reaches her hands out to me when she sees me. “Caleb!”
It’s too late for me to run, and she pulls me close to her hot, moist body. I wince as she plants damp, soggy kisses on my face, and I wipe them with my hand right away. Roxanne doesn’t notice. Roxanne doesn’t notice anything.
“You look just like your daddy with your face all pinched like that. Dinner will be ready soon!” she shouts over the loud music. I groan and go back to my room. I give up on my homework and watch TV instead. Mom will have to write my teacher a note. It’s her fault for getting me a horrible babysitter who doesn’t do homework with me.
I watch TV until my eyes hurt. I don’t know what time it is, but I know it’s past dinnertime. My stomach is cramping. The music downstairs has stopped, but Roxanne never called me down for dinner. Or maybe I just didn’t hear.
The air downstairs is hot, and it hurts to breathe. It stings my eyes the closer and closer I get to the kitchen. I trip over something I can’t see and fall to my knees. Why didn’t Roxanne turn on the lights when it got dark? My eyes water, and I scream for my mom until my throat hurts.
I must’ve fallen asleep, because I woke up in my mother’s arms. She’s crying and kissing all over me. “I’m so sorry,” she says over and over. “I thought I turned the stove off. I’m so sorry.”
Why are you sorry? I want to ask, but my throat feels like it’s full of sand. It hurts to open my mouth. I need water. I need to tell her about Roxanne.
“The fire department is here,” my mom whispers quickly, like she’s in a rush. “They’re coming in to check on the oven. Why don’t you go up to your room? If you’re quiet, I’ll bring you some cookies and milk. But you have to be very, very quiet.”
I need milk now, and I haven’t even had dinner yet, but I’m too tired to speak. It feels like I’m walking in slow motion. Each step makes my head drum. When I get to my bed, I’m out like a light.
When I wake up, I realize I overslept for school. My night table is empty. Mom never brought my cookies and milk. I bury myself deep into my blankets so she won’t hear me cry.
There are two good things about September. The entire second grade is doing a play at school at the end of the month. The Wizard of Oz. I practice lines and get the part of the lion. It’s a lot to remember, so I practice in the mirror every day. My teacher gives me notes on how to look more expressive.
The second good thing is that Dad’s birthday is in September. September 12th. But I guess because he’s gone, we don’t do anything special on that day anymore. We can’t even call him because Mom said he lost his “privileges.” So, she just sleeps. She always sleeps. Every time I need something, she’s sleeping. It’s very annoying. Sometimes my dinner is left wrapped in foil on the kitchen table with a note. Sometimes there’s no dinner at all. On those days, I make my own food. I make sandwiches, or cereal, or put frozen pizza in the microwave. I’m growing up, becoming a big kid.
Mom doesn’t pick out my outfits anymore, either, so I’m dressing myself now. I like that she’s letting me be a grown-up, but sometimes homework, cooking, and practicing for the play are too much. I got a detention for missing three assignments in a week. The house stinks. The garbage is piling up too much for the lid to fit on it. I don’t know how to use the mop, so the floors are dirty and sticky.
There’s always something to do. I get home and make my afterschool snack. I tidy up and throw out the empty bottles that have been appearing all over the living room. I shower (no more baths, I’m too old now, I’ve decided), and skip homework because I really am too tired. I lock myself in my room at 9 o’clock every night because that’s when the loud music starts. That’s when Roxanne is here.
But today I must go downstairs because it’s the play. Even with being so sleepy lately, I haven’t stopped practicing. I’m the best actor in the whole grade. One day I’ll be famous.
I walk downstairs around six pm. It’s quiet, but all the lights are on. I pause at the bottom of the steps, listening. There’s no music. There’s nothing but the sound of the refrigerator and this low humming.
I slowly walk to the kitchen and realize the humming is actually snoring coming from Roxanne, slumped over the kitchen table. Her hair is all crazy as usual. She smells like chemicals and pee.
I move a chunk of hair out of her face, and her eyes flutter open. “Hey, baby,” she says, her voice sounding like she has a bunch of marshmallows in her mouth. “What’s that?”
I step out of her reach before she can touch my homemade lion costume. I glued orange construction paper to a white shirt to make it, and it’s very fragile. “Where’s mom?” I ask.
Roxanne looks confused. “I am your mom, baby.”
“No, you’re not. You’re Roxanne.”
Roxanne throws her head back and laughs loudly. There’s drool crusted on her chin, and the bathrobe she’s wearing is filthy. Dad’s robe. The one mom almost never takes off. Roxanne grabs a glass from the kitchen table that’s filled to the top with a juice that smells both sweet and sour.
She lunges forward quickly, pulling me to her by my arm. I shriek as some of the juice jumps out of the cup, spilling all over the front of my shirt. “When mommy drinks her special mommy drink, Roxanne comes out,” she giggles, her hot breath tickling my face. “Don’tyoulike mommy like this? Don’tyoulike mommy happy?”
“Get off me!” I scream. Warm tears burst out of my eyes, spilling down my cheeks. I squirm and wiggle until she lets go. “You ruined my costume! I hate you!”
Roxanne gasps, and her skin gets very red, like she’s about to explode. “You ungrateful brat! You have no idea how much I do for you! With no help! You ungrateful little—”
She lunges towards me again, her eyes sharp and angry, as if she wants to hurt me. I jump out of the way, and she crashes to the ground, her glass shattering against the floor in a million sharp pieces.
“Caleb!” Roxanne roars. I run out of the kitchen and through the front door into the night. Tears pour down my face; I can barely see. I want mommy home now. I want things to go back to how they used to be.
I don’t stop running until I get to school. My teacher is waiting in the lobby with all the other kids in the play. “Caleb!” she says when she sees me. “What happened to your costume?”
I try to explain Roxanne, her temper, and how much I miss my mom, but all that comes out is more tears, so heavy I can’t speak. My lungs are pounding, and I can hardly breathe. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” my teacher says. “I’ll take you backstage. We have an old costume you can wear.”
She quickly takes me to the room behind the auditorium and gives me a lion costume to change into. It’s too big and smells like an attic. When I’m done, I see her smelling my spoiled costume, frowning.
“I’m all ready, Mrs.,” I say.
“What’s this on your costume, Caleb?”
“Special mommy juice. Roxanne spilled it on me.”
“Roxanne?”
“She’s my mom’s friend. She’s always at our house.”
She pinches her lips together and puts the costume in a plastic bag. For a second, she seems upset, but then she turns to me and smiles. “You look great, Caleb. Break a leg!” I know she doesn’t actually want me to break my leg; she just wants me to have good luck, which I need. I don’t feel like a lion at all tonight. I feel like a sad, scared kitten.
I line up onstage with my classmates. I hear the principal of the school talking, and then with a whoosh, the curtain lifts. Bright white lights shine on us like stars. The audience cheers loudly. I look into the crowd and see rows and rows of parents, pointing at their children, smiling, and taking pictures. There are video cameras with red lights, balloons, and signs. The auditorium is full of lots and lots of people, except for one empty seat.
Everyone onstage smiles, putting on what my teacher calls their stage face. Not me. I can’t smile. I can’t stop looking at the empty chair.
My mom isn’t here. Dad is gone. Not even Roxanne, who I can’t seem to get rid of, has come to see my play.
No one cheers for me in the audience. No one at all.
