This Ordinary Life

by Jennifer Walkup

  “Out of the park?” I raise my eyebrows. “Did you not notice the mic cut out early in the segment?”

  She smiles. “I did, but you handled it well. There was hardly any dead air before you switched over.”

  “And how is that going to look to WYN60?”

  “Like you know how to handle a technical foul up,” she says. “You could have folded and let the show end, but you recovered quickly. But enough about that, the interview was flawless. Even the way you handled the cranky caller.”

  “You sure?”

  “Positive. You are going to knock the folks in New York dead, you know. This was your best interview yet. Very natural progression. I was working the breakfast hour in the cafeteria and I will tell you, every single person in there was listening.”

  Even if I wanted to, there’s no way to keep the grin off my face as the energy from the morning show still pumps through me. Even the mess ups are quickly fading.

  “What can I say?” I joke. “You taught me everything I know.”

  She squeezes my arm. “We’ll chat later,” she says. “Have an amazing day. You’ve more than earned it.”

  I practically skip down the hall toward my chemistry class. If a successful radio segment feels this good, I don’t ever want to quit. And Ms. Hudson is right, even with the technical issues, it could have been a much worse recovery. At least I didn’t freeze. I just hope that’s how the folks in New York see it when they hear the lag.

  I stop at my locker to drop off the flowers, smiling as I set them on the small shelf and get the books I need. I sashay toward first period, smiling at every single person I pass. I get more head nods and “good jobs,” than usual, and I’m beaming as I walk down the hall, feeling more than a little like that sunshine Wes is always going on about.

  My phone dings with nothing but smiley faces from Wes as I walk into chem. I slide into my seat with a huge grin and text him back, hiding the phone under the desk in case Mr. Karns comes in.

  Three days of the week down and interview done! Now to wait for the inevitable horror of Saturday…

  His response is nothing but another grinning smile along with a devil face. I giggle and put my phone into my bag.

  14

  AFTER AN AWESOME after school meeting where Ms. Hudson and I re-listen to this morning’s show, I float all the way home. I cringed when I heard the few seconds of dead air when I realized the mic was out, but I’m hoping she’s right and my recovery was professional enough. She confirmed that the internship has already been narrowed down to just a handful of people. So me getting this interview is beyond lucky this late in the game. The look on her face when we listened to the interview renewed my hope. If she believes I’m good enough to get this, maybe I really do have a shot.

  I’m practically humming when I walk in my front door. The smell of burnt popcorn hangs in the air and other than the dripping kitchen faucet, it’s quiet. Too quiet.

  “Danny?” I call.

  Nothing.

  I step back outside. Yep. Mom’s car is in the driveway. Would she have walked somewhere with him? The park down the street?

  A nice thought, but fat chance.

  I see her ratty brown hair draped over the arm of the couch and notice now the scratching of the needle at the end of the album again. I should throw away those few stupid albums Dad left behind. What is wrong with her? Sighing, I make my way over to her, lifting her limp arm, to expose her face: bloated, smeared eye makeup making her look like some deranged raccoon, and completely passed out. On the coffee table in front of her is all I need to know. An empty vodka bottle and a near-empty two liter of Diet Sprite. The stench of booze wafts off her. Gross.

  “Great, Mom. Awesome job.”

  And where the hell is Danny?

  I check his room, even all his favorite hiding spots, like under his bed or curled up next to his toy box.

  Nothing. Panic starts to work its way through me.

  Both the front and back yards are empty. I walk up and down our street quickly, peering into every yard I pass, thinking maybe he’s playing outside and lost track of time. But of course, he’s not. Danny is not the kind of kid to wander off and it’s not like he has any neighborhood friends. My pulse drowns out all other sounds. Where the hell is he? I pick up my pace as I walk back to my house, shirt clinging with sweat.

  I pull my hair up in a ponytail as I walk back inside, fanning my clammy face.

  If something happened to him, I will kill her. What kind of mother—

  “Incoming!” Danny’s voice echoes off the tiles. He’s in the bathroom!

  I hear a big splash.

  “Boom! Swim away! Swim away! Eeek! Shaaaaarrrrkkk attack!”

  I burst through the bathroom door. “Danny!”

  “Hey, Jazzy!” Danny squints up at me from the bathtub, plastic sharks and fish bobbing in the water around him. My breathing can’t catch up to what my mind sees, but slowly, more slowly than a turtle in mud, my brain gets the telegram. Danny is okay.

  But God! He may not have been okay. The tub, and pools, and lakes, and any other water in general, are the one and only place, the one and only unbreakable rule, we have. He cannot be in water alone. Cannot! He has to be watched carefully. If he has a seizure in water and no one is around… Well, he’ll have no way to know he’s under water. And he’ll drown. Die. Simple as that.

  Jesus, Mom.

  I close the toilet lid and sit on the edge of it, watching him play with his sharks. He swims them back and forth slowly, crashing them into one another.

  I take deep breaths but can’t steady my brain from thinking of the what-ifs. To leave Danny in the bath like this. It’s reckless. It’s stupid. My fingernails dig rivets into my palms. Selfish and crazy. That’s all she is.

  “Jazzy, are you mad at me?”

  “What?” I ask absently.

  Danny stares up at me, his face as concerned as when he asks if Mommy is sick because she sleeps so much. “You have a mad face. Why are you mad? I didn’t do whatever it is.”

  Deep breath. “You didn’t do anything, buddy. How could you? It’s just been a crazy day.” I sit on the floor beside the tub and grab the Sponge Bob cup on the ledge. “Come here, let me wash your hair.”

  When I dip the cup in the water, I jump back. “Jeeez! It’s freaking freezing. How long have you been in here?”

  He holds out his hands. Wrinkled and purple. “I’m a raisin,” he says with the lisp of missing front teeth. “So a long time? I’m doing shark races!”

  “Aren’t you cold? Why didn’t you get out?”

  Danny shrugs and tosses another shark into the air. “I was just playing, Jazzy.”

  I hit the drain on the tub and grab two towels from the closet. Once I pull him out and the cool air of the bathroom hits his skin, Danny starts chattering teeth and shivering. Up this close, I notice for the first time, the tinge of blue around the edge of his lips. I wrap him tightly and pick him up like a baby, joking around like I’m pretend-rocking him.

  “Rock a bye Danny, on the treetop.” I sing, my voice warbling with emotion at how cold he is in my arms.

  “Put me down!” He laughs and laughs, that belly giggle that I love. I deposit him in his room and tell him to get dressed and meet me in the kitchen. He’s still giggling when I close his door and turn my eyes upward, thanking the heavens for his resilience. And probably a good dose of plain old luck.

  Scanning the mostly empty refrigerator shelves, I try to come up with a dinner plan. I’m a pretty crappy cook but I can usually pull something together. With the state my mind is in, the few things inside the fridge look like a foreign objects. I still can’t wrap my mind around Danny being alone in the bathtub.

  Slamming the door shut, I shoot a dirty look at Mom, passed out like a gross hobo on our couch. Then I do something I never, ever do. I open Mom’s purse, then her wallet, pulling thirty dollars in fives out from her bartending tips.

  I walk quickly down the hall and knock
on Danny’s door. “Put on socks and shoes, too. I’m taking you out.”

  A few minutes later, Danny and I walk out the back door, our held hands swinging between us. It may be my imagination, but even in the hot June evening, his fingers are still cold.

  “STRIKE!” DANNY SCOOTS backwards, doing the little dance he does every time he bowls a spare or a strike. I high five him and match his huge grin with one of my own. I try and tamp down the sick feeling in my gut that’s been swirling there since I found him alone in the tub. The bowling alley sounds are loud and distracting, balls hitting pins, music blaring. I pull apart the slices of our pizza to cool it off, putting one on my plate and one on Danny’s. My phone chimes loudly and I glare at it. If it’s her, I’m not answering. Let her worry. She deserves it.

  But it’s Wes.

  “Hey, Wes.” My stomach flutters as I answer the phone. We’ve texted a bunch of times, but never called.

  He blasts the song “Video Killed the Radio Star” into the phone.

  I roll my eyes, but can’t help laughing. “So dumb.”

  “What’s up Sunny?”

  It’s weird, hearing his voice over the phone. I mean, it’s obviously the same Wes I talk to in person, but his phone voice sounds different, slightly deeper or something.

  I blow out a huge gust of air. “I’m bowling with Danny. Had to get out of my house.”

  “You okay? You sound weird.”

  I plop down on the plastic seat. “Not really. Long story. But anyway, it’s my turn. I have to go.”

  “Where are you guys?”

  “Pins and Lanes.”

  “Mind if I stop by?”

  My stomach swirls, a tiny storm. “If you want.”

  “I’ll be there. And call me Wes when I see you.”

  “As opposed to…”

  “No. The way you said it, I mean. When you answered, you sounded different. I liked it.” He hangs up before I can answer, and my face instantly warms. What way I said his name? All I did was answer the phone. I’m still shaking my head when I go up to take my turn, wondering if I’ve lost the touch of keeping my game face on, or in this case, my game voice. My ball rolls way right and I throw my hands up in despair.

  “Gutter ball!” Danny calls happily, tomato sauce smeared on his face.

  I hit two pins on my next turn and wince when I look at the score. “You’re killing me. When did you get so good? Wait, come here, your shoe is untied. Let me tie it for you.”

  Danny puts his hands on his hips. “Really, Jazz? Like I can’t tie my own shoe?”

  Sure enough, he drops down and ties the laces on the hideous bowling shoes. Looking smug, he marches up to take his turn. I watch him as I nibble on my pizza, his skinny little kid self shimmying across the slippery floor. My heart swells as I think about how much Danny needs, and how unfair so much of his life is. I vow, like always, to protect every single bit of his life as much as I can. Which apparently means from Mom along with everything else he has to deal with.

  We’re halfway through the pizza when Wes shows up, wearing plaid shorts, a tee shirt and a Life Is Good hat, his hair curling out around the back and sides of it. He’s wearing this totally honest expression too, eyes wide and a huge smile. Like, ear to ear and everything.

  “Hey,” he says, burying his hands in his pockets.

  “Hey,” I say, the stress of the afternoon unraveling so quickly, I have to sit down to keep grounded.

  “Danny, you remember Wes, right? From Dr. Bee’s office?”

  “Yeah, and he was my roommate in the hospital!” Danny moves to slap Wes five, but Wes gives him a handshake like he’d give someone our own age.

  “What’s up man?” Wes says.

  Danny beams at the attention before marching back up to take another turn.

  Wes drops into the seat next to mine and I pass him a slice of pizza. “I don’t know why we bought a whole pie. And I’m not bringing any home for my mom, either.”

  Wes raises his eyebrows. “Um, okay… Something happen?”

  I whisper the story. My mouth stutters as much as my heart when I tell him about Mom being passed out in her drunken glory. It’s not the kind of thing I really share with too many people. But the afternoon is stamped all over me, so it’s not like I can hide it. And Wes obviously gets Danny’s problems.

  So it all pours out of me, detail after detail, coming home, her passed out, my search up and down the block for Danny. It’s like slipping on the most comfortable pair of shoes to talk to someone who understands without having to explain. Wes listens intently as I reach the pinnacle of the afternoon search, eyes widening all saucer-like when I tell him about finding Danny alone in the bath. Saying it out loud makes my voice shake like we’re in a 10 point on the Richter scale earthquake.

  I close my eyes and take a huge, steadying breath. Nausea rises in a wave and I taste it in the back of my throat. “God, she’s such an asshole. I mean, can you imagine. If… He could have…”

  “He’s okay,” he says, putting a hand on mine. I look down at our hands without even really thinking too much about the fact that this is kind of weird, his fingers lying on top of mine like they belong there. Like it’s their job to do what they’re doing, giving me comfort and making me feel so much less alone. His nails are clean and neatly trimmed, his fingertips rough against my skin.

  But I can’t stop thinking about that stupid bath.

  “Nothing happened,” Wes says in this super soft voice that feels so much like a comforting hug. “Talk to her again. Remind her. I’m sure you can make her understand. I mean she must know—”

  “Yeah she knows, but you don’t understand, when she’s like that—”

  “Your turn, Jazzy!” Danny bounds over to us. I pull my hand away from Wes’s quickly.

  “Can Wes take my turn?” I ask my brother. “Maybe then I can come close to catching up to you.”

  Danny looks between us as if deciding. I pick up a paper airplane Wes left on the table and toss it at my brother. Danny catches it and throws it back with a laugh.

  “I guess so,” he says. “But only one turn.”

  “Fair enough, bro.” Wes ruffles Danny’s hair as he passes. Danny smiles up at him, obviously smitten with Wes’s attention.

  I watch the interaction with a faint smile, trying to keep my own emotions from mirroring my brother’s.

  15

  THE WORST PART about my mom is how freaking clueless she is. Okay, that’s not the worst part, since let’s face it, she pretty much sucks all around. But geez. I give her the silent treatment the rest of the week and she doesn’t even notice.

  The night we came home from bowling she was still passed out and after putting Danny to bed I went to bed myself. What if I wasn’t home? Would he have gotten out of the bath, made himself dinner? Who would have given him his medicine? I guess she just assumed I would have been home and done it all, like I always do. Or did she just not think about him or care? And God forbid he had a seizure in there. She wouldn’t have even known. So I spent the next two days avoiding and ignoring her. I kept myself and Danny on track in the mornings and evenings and she worked her stupid shifts at the bar and pretty much acted like we didn’t exist.

  And it’s not that I don’t want to take care of Danny, because of course I don’t mind. He’s my heart. But I’ve been working Easy Easton Mornings all week and had afternoon meetings with Ms. Hudson to get the portfolio ready for next week’s WYN60 Get Up and Go visit. So I’m stressed to the point of breaking.

  When Saturday rolls around, I have no interest in getting up early. I wake up at seven to give Danny his meds and then fall back into the warm cocoon of my blankets and drift off again. I finally open my eyes again at almost lunchtime. I sit up, yawning and stretching and remembering suddenly, that today is my nondate with Wes.

  I smile and look up at my ceiling.

  Why I find myself poring relentlessly over my closet, I can’t say for sure. Since I don’t know what we’re doin
g, I settle for a casual jean skirt and a lacy black tank top.

  By early afternoon, I’m home alone and pacing the kitchen. Mom and Danny actually went somewhere together, shockingly, though I have no idea where since she seems to finally have gotten the I’m-not-talking-to-you-leave-me-alone-no-really-I-will-kill-you-with-my-deathglare memo. I don’t think she even knows what she did wrong—cluelessness and aversion to actual true life details seem a natural side effect of her drinking.

  But whatever. I wipe down the gold Formica and straighten the pile of papers on the counter while I look out the kitchen window for Wes’s fancy SUV. I say a silent thank you prayer that Mom isn’t here. I told him I didn’t want him to meet her, but I’m afraid Wes’s stubbornness would have made him come in to say hello. A paper on the top of the stack grabs my attention.

  “Lab results?” I mutter, frowning. The date at the top is from last week. Did his labs already get here from his Dr. Bee visit? I flip through them. On the second page, one of the lines has been highlighted manually in bright yellow, by someone at the doctor’s office, I guess.

  “Shit.”

  His med levels are way up again. Damn it. This is the constant problem for Danny. He’s tiny and metabolizes the medicine so quickly that he needs a ton of them to stop his seizures, but then the levels get too high, which has a whole other host of possible problems, like awful mood swings and side effects that could cause damage to his kidneys and liver. I grab a sticky note and scrawl a note for myself as much as for Mom. MUST CALL DOCTOR MONDAY ABOUT LABS!

  There’s not much they can do. Controlling the seizures is the most important thing, despite whatever harm to his system or organs or side effects the medicines cause. Tears burn my eyes. Why can’t she handle this? Any of it? How did this huge thing become my thing?

  I press down on the sticky note harder than I need to. I hate her.

  A brown bag sits at the back of the counter, amid the mess of papers. I peer into it and roll my eyes. A bottle of vodka? At least she remembers some things. Like stocking up on her booze.

  I fold the top of the bag back over to close it, but then I think again. I crack open the bottle and take a whiff, and the stench almost knocks me over.