by 50 Cent
24
Big surprise, Liz bumped me back up to two sessions a week, but I’d be lying if I said I was upset when my mom broke the news to me. In some jacked way, I was kinda relieved, especially since, by the time that Friday rolled around, I felt like I’d survived a week at war. Watkins had never been this bad, not even when I’d first gotten there and didn’t know a damn soul. People treated me like I was the scum of the earth, the lowest of the low. It’d been a whole lot better when they’d just ignored me, or called me fat and moved on with their lives. But now there seemed to be an intensity of focus on me, everywhere I went. Every class, every hallway, every stairwell: always those horrible whispers, that cackling laughter. Even that kid Jamal had laughed in my face when I’d run into him in the seventh-grade bathroom after one of my lunches in there. Jamal. I would’ve kicked his ass, but I just didn’t have the energy. I didn’t have the energy for much of anything anymore.
So yeah, when I got to Liz’s that Friday afternoon, it almost felt like—I don’t know—a homecoming in a way. Even if it was because she was paid to do it, Liz was at least nice to me. Or didn’t laugh at me. And at this point I’d take whatever I could get.
My face must’ve told the tale all right because when I walked in there, she didn’t start in on me right away like she usually did. She just gave me a kinda sad smile and moved over to her mini-fridge to get me my PQ. This time I opened it right away. After all my lunches in the handicapped stall, I was hungry pretty much around the clock.
“So, how was the rest of the week in school?” Liz asked me, but gently, as if she already knew what the answer would be.
I lifted my shoulders and bowed my head.
“That bad, huh?”
“Yeah,” I said. “As bad as it gets.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” she said. “Are you spending this weekend at your dad’s, I assume?”
I shook my head. “Nah.”
“But this is one of your scheduled weekends, isn’t it?” Liz persisted, I have no idea why.
I mean, yeah, I was glad she’d decided not to grill me about the details of what had gone down at Watkins, but I really didn’t understand what my dad had to do with anything. “I’ve got shit to do around here,” I told her. “This weekend my mom needs my help doing some stuff around the house, so I said I’d stay. And besides, I told you me and him don’t work on a strict calendar like that. I go when it works. When it doesn’t, I don’t.”
“What kind of stuff are you planning to do with your mom?” Liz asked. I looked over at her suspiciously. I wondered for the first time how much she knew. Did she know what my mom and Evelyn had discussed over dinner on Monday night?
I took a deep breath and figured I might as well tell Liz. It was easier than getting into the nitty-gritty of what had gone down at Watkins all week. And so I began.
“My mom has this friend,” I said carefully. “Evelyn her name is? Anyway, she helps out when my mom’s working, and sometimes she comes by and picks me up here after my sessions with you.” I stopped and waited, for what I don’t know.
“Yes,” Liz said, “I believe I’ve seen her a few times when I’ve closed up behind you. I admit I’ve wondered who she was to you.”
Who she was to me. Liz had a funny way of putting shit sometimes. Who was Evelyn to me, anyway? I had no clue. “Yeah, well,” I said, “when they came home from dinner on Monday, they told me . . . well, they told me they’d decided that Evelyn would be moving in with us. To save money and shit like that. Plus, my mom thought that I should have someone else around to help monitor my every move.”
“I see,” Liz said. She hadn’t blinked: It was like I’d just told her my mom had ordered pizza for dinner. No reaction at all.
“And it sure feels like Evelyn’s around 24-7 as it is, but she lives all the way out in Hempstead. And the hospital they both work at is a lot closer to our place, and Mom said there was no use in her driving all the way out here when she could just as easily . . .” I broke off, trying to figure out what came next. It was all so jumbled-up in my mind. “Anyway, well, the thing is, our place—the apartment my mom and I live in, right?—well, it’s only two bedrooms, if you know what I’m saying.”
Liz nodded again, but she still showed no signs of being all that blown away by, or even all that interested in, what I was telling her. Did I really have to spell it out for her even clearer? But then she did the dirty work for me. She looked me straight in the eyes and said, “What you’re saying is that Evelyn will be moving into your mother’s bedroom.”
I felt my face go all hot as those same humiliating tears sprang to the corners of my eyes. “Yes, that’s what I was saying,” I said in the quietest ever voice. I was having trouble understanding why Liz didn’t seem a little more into what I was telling her—I mean, this must feel like a big breakthrough, right? But she just seemed kinda bored by the whole thing. It made no sense.
“My mom’s been happy as shit all week,” I said. “Humming in the shower and all that. I mean, this has been the worst damn week of my whole life, and she’s walking around like she’s just been made queen or something.” I paused, shuddered. “It’s disgusting.”
“I see,” Liz said for the millionth time, still nodding over and over. “So this angers you, does it? Your mother’s happiness?”
“Damn, lady, haven’t you been listening to a single word I’ve said? No, it doesn’t anger me. It’s just that the one time in my whole life I might want my mom to be around a little, she’s just completely checked out, and this time she can’t blame her school or her job or all her other stupid-ass attempts to improve our shitty lives, know what I mean? I mean, it’s bad enough that she . . . But if people found out about her, if . . . whatever the word you used—her happiness—got out, it would ruin me at Watkins, don’t you understand that? I mean, if it were possible for my life to be any more ruined than it already is, which it isn’t. Everything that’s already happened to me out here would be a joke in comparison, you have no idea.”
I hope Liz didn’t see me cringe as I all of a sudden remembered the months before we left Harlem and came out here. I used to hear her in the shower a lot then, too, but it was a whole different sound. Not whistling, but more like crying. She’d gone in there just about every morning, it felt like, while my dad was still sleeping and I was still pretending to sleep, and she’d just bawl and bawl like the whole world was coming to an end right in front of her. After she’d calm down and I’d go out into the kitchen, she’d come in like everything was totally normal. And even though our apartment was a shoebox, I’d act like everything was normal, too, like I didn’t know what was going on in the bathroom, just like I’d act like I didn’t hear the way she and my dad screamed and carried on till past midnight every night. And even though both of us were pretty good at pretending stuff was okay, I guess we both knew it couldn’t go on that way forever.
And it hadn’t.
“When is your mom’s friend moving in?” Liz asked.
“This weekend,” I said. “Kinda interesting, don’t you think? I mean, it’s almost like they’d made the big decision a whole lot earlier than this past Monday.” I shook my head and went on, “And now, as part of my punishment for getting beat up, I’m supposed to spend all of tomorrow and Sunday lugging all of Evelyn’s shit over from Hempstead. My mom’s acting like she’s being all generous to let me out of the apartment at all when we all know it’s just that she’s too cheap to hire a real mover. But hey, I guess it’s something to do.”
Liz nodded, but it didn’t seem like she had anything to add.
Well, that made two of us then.
25
“So how was the big move?” Liz asked when I got to her office on Monday afternoon.
“It was fine,” I said. And it was, at least compared to some other shit. Anything to stay the hell away from Watkins and, well—the other thing I just couldn’t think about. Not now, maybe not ever. I suddenly noticed Liz looking at me funny,
so I added quickly, “I mean, it ended up being a lot less work than my mom had made out.”
Evelyn’s place in West Hempstead had been tiny—a single room with barely any furniture in it. The whole studio was white and simple and clean, like a set from a European movie or something. My mom’s furniture, a lot of which she’d dragged up from Philly after my grandma’s funeral, was all heavy and dark and way too big for our apartment.
“My thighs are sore as shit, though,” I said. “I hadn’t got that much exercise since they shut down P.E. at my old school in Harlem. But yeah, the good thing was that we finished up Saturday afternoon, and to thank me for all my help, my mom said I could choose any restaurant I wanted. So I picked Houston’s over in the Roosevelt Field mall because I’d always wanted to try that place.” And, I didn’t add, it was on the other side of town from Watkins, so no chance of our running into any familiar faces.
“Was it good?” Liz said.
I shrugged. “Yeah, it was all right. I got a big burger and some apple-walnut cobbler for dessert, and yeah, I liked it just fine. The funny thing is that Evelyn got a burger, too. A bacon cheeseburger.”
“Why’s that funny?” Liz wanted to know.
“Oh, just because she’s always making these crazy vegetable stews that look like vomit and have no fat or taste or anything. But yeah, she ate up every bite of that burger and half of my mom’s fries, too. Tiny lady like that, I didn’t know she had it in her.”
“It sounds like you really had fun,” Liz said.
“I didn’t say I had fun,” I corrected her. “I said it was all right, especially since we finished up early and I got to eat a real meal for a change. But yeah, my mom was all laughing and shit, and I guess Evelyn isn’t so bad when she lets herself loosen up a little. Most of the time, she walks around like there’s a big baseball bat rammed up her ass.”
Liz smiled, then quickly pretended she hadn’t. It was good one of us had something to smile about because it sure wasn’t me.
“By yesterday everything was pretty much back to normal,” I went on. “My mom got called into work before I’d even woken up, and I spent the whole day locked up in that apartment while Evelyn ran around arranging shit and ignoring me unless she needed help moving furniture. I like it better when I can just chill there by my own self, you know what I mean? And Evelyn don’t talk much when my mom’s not around,” I said. “It’s weird. She likes watching TV, though, and that’s good because my mom’s all psycho about that shit and never lets me.”
In fact, the first thing I’d noticed when I walked into Evelyn’s place in West Hempstead was the big shelf filled with DVDs. She had a ton of them, more than I’d ever seen outside the video store—a bunch of classics, plus plenty of shit I’d never heard of before. I hadn’t been able to hide how surprised I’d been. “I never knew you liked movies,” I said.
Evelyn just shrugged, her face expressionless as ever. “Well, you never asked, did you?”
I had no response and just turned to check out the sweet TV set Evelyn had hooked up to the wall. It was flatscreen, and like fifty inches across. Damn. I sure hoped that’d be making the move to Garden City with us.
“No way I spend that much on a TV and live without cable,” Evelyn had said at Houston’s that night, and I loved how pissed my mom was. But she was halfway through her second glass of sparkling wine and not much in the mood to throw down.
“Just as long as we’re clear that my son won’t be watching trash when I’m not around,” my mom mumbled. “He’s got enough problems already.”
“Don’t worry,” Evelyn said. “There’re enough high-quality shows on the TV these days to keep him off the streets. I’ll make sure Burton only gets exposed to the good stuff.”
My mouth dropped open. If only I’d had a cocktail of my own right then. No way would Evelyn get away with that. She thinks just because she’s sharing my mom’s bed, she can all of a sudden call me by the stupid-ass name that only my mother was allowed to use, and that was only because I didn’t have a choice in the matter?
My own father hated my name, and said so whenever he got a chance. “Don’t know what I was thinking, letting Shari name my only son after her dead granddaddy. But let me tell you, your mom was fine back in the day, and she used it to get whatever she wanted out of my ass.”
“We’re getting cable,” I told Liz. “And Internet, too. My mom never saw the need for it before, but Evelyn works from home sometimes so she said that was a—what was the word?—a non-negotiable. Which seems only fair, I guess. I mean, if this woman is going to come in and ruin my life, I might as well go down watching some HBO, know what I mean?”
Liz knitted her brow and looked like she was going to say something, but after a moment she changed her mind. “Yes, I suppose that is a silver lining,” she said. “You seem to be adapting well to all these changes, Butterball. I have to say, I’m proud of you.”
“You shouldn’t be proud of me,” I said. “That’s the very last thing you should be.”
“What do you mean?” Liz said, perking up. She was clearly pumped.
But I only shook my head and didn’t say anything. Don’t blow it now, Butterball. Liz was this close to writing me a good report. As long as she didn’t find out what had happened in the cafeteria that day, I was fine with her thinking whatever she wanted about me.
But then, I’m not sure why, I couldn’t help myself.
“I found out today that I beat up Maurice for no reason at all. I mean—the reason I thought I’d beat him up turned out to be wrong. And I don’t know why, but I feel like crap about it.”
Liz pursed her lips and looked at me with a little sideways smile. “There’s never any right reason to beat someone up, Butterball. Whatever Maurice did, beating him up was not the answer.”
“But aren’t you listening to me?” I said. “He didn’t do anything, that’s what I’m trying to tell you. Whatever, never mind. I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“For what it’s worth,” Liz said, “I’m really glad you did.”
“Yeah, whatever,” I said. There was no way Liz would begin to understand what had gone down, anyway. Sometimes old Liz just didn’t have a clue.
And sometimes I didn’t, either.
26
That morning when I’d gotten to school, I decided I was done eating in the handicapped stall. Okay, so maybe I only made the decision when I got to the vending machine and saw that no one had restocked the cheese crackers I’d polished off on Friday. Knowing that it was pizza day was also a factor: If there was one thing the cafeteria staff at Watkins knew how to make, it was pizza. No way I could make it through math and social studies without getting my hands on at least a slice or four.
Anyway, I’d already faced off with Andres and the rest a couple more times in the hall, and they seemed to have lost interest in me, at least for now. I still waited until about twenty minutes into the period—when all the lines would’ve died down and most of the popular eighth-graders would’ve drifted outside to the playground—to head into the hot-food area. I’d grab my food and get out of there fast, no reason to put myself on display any longer than I needed to.
I’d just gotten in line and taken a couple of chocolate milks when I spotted that little kid Jamal and his fat sidekick, whose name I suddenly remembered was Shaun. I was still planning to whup Jamal for laughing at me in the bathroom last week and just hadn’t gotten around to it yet.
So I was glaring over at Jamal when his fatass friend Shaun took the last four slices of pizza under the heat lamp. Man, my chest tightened up when I saw that—that’s what I get for showing up so late with all the other rejects. Of all the bitches to steal my lunch out from under me!
I was about to step forward when out of nowhere Miss Stipler popped out of the line and tapped Shaun right on the shoulder. The woman who’d come closest to ruining my life had been standing right in front of me, and I hadn’t even noticed. She was so small that even Jamal looked big and to
ugh next to her.
“Excuse me, son?” Miss Stipler said to Shaun. “Does your mother know what you’re having for lunch today?”
“Nah, I don’t think so,” Shaun said, looking embarrassed.
“Because right there, what you’ve got on your tray there, that’s more saturated fat than you’re supposed to consume in a whole week. If you don’t watch yourself, you’ve got a diabetes diagnosis in your future, do you know that?”
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” Shaun mumbled. “I was—well, I was getting all those slices to share with my friend here, ain’t that right?” He nudged Jamal in the side, and it took Jamal a second to catch on.
“Oh, yeah, oh, yeah,” Jamal said quickly. “Yeah, we always get two each.”
“Well, I suppose that’s an improvement then,” Miss Stipler said. “So I’ll let it slide this one time only. But listen, guys, if you ever have any questions about this kind of thing, I run a little informal nutrition clinic out of my classroom during my off-periods. You can bring your parents in, too—good nutrition starts at home, so there’s a lot of benefit in you all getting educated together.”
I felt a lump rising in my throat, and my skin got very hot. What was going—what was she—was what I thought was happening really happening?
“Hey! What’s your problem, boy? I said move it or lose it!”
I nearly jumped out of my skin to see the hairnetted woman behind the counter yelling at me. She was gesturing angrily at the brand-new pepperoni pizza that had just been placed in front of her. “You want some food or you just standing here for the view?”
“Oh,” I squeaked out. “Sorry, sorry. Yeah, I’ll have . . .” I looked at the pie and then back in front of me. Jamal, Shaun, and Miss Stipler were all moving out toward the lady who swipes everyone’s meal cards, and I don’t think any of them had even noticed me behind them. “I’ll have two slices of the pepperoni, please.”
