by Chris Cannon
Honestly. Did she have delusions of being a social worker or a psychiatrist? I had more than enough friends. Adding people to my life never made it simpler. They always asked too many questions, just like Vicky had.
As I drove home, I wondered why I’d even bothered with her. She was pretty and curvy, but none of that made up for the lectures about how I should act or how weird it was that she could never come inside my house. Like I didn’t know that was weird, but facts were facts. Until I moved out of my parents’ home, I’d continue to protect my mom’s secret. I planned to move out as soon as possible. I’d received acceptance letters from most of the schools I’d applied to. Now I was waiting to hear back about their financial aid packages. If all went according to plan, I’d trade my grade point average in for a scholarship to a university far away from Greenbrier.
When I pulled into our shared driveway, I noticed Nina had beaten me home and parked right on the edge of the line, again. I parked on my side, behind her so I didn’t have to deal with making sure our driver’s-side and passenger-side mirrors didn’t hit. Why couldn’t my dad have rented to some conservationists who drove tiny little smart cars?
No. He’d rented to Nina’s family. Nina—oddly interesting and sexy in a smart-girl kind of way, who tried to turn everything into a debate or a confrontation. As entertaining as she might be, I didn’t need any more conflict in my life. And it’s not like she wanted to go to the stupid dance anyway. It was all about the truth. What I needed was to find a way to catch her in a lie, and then she couldn’t pretend to be so high and mighty about always telling the truth.
I put my car in park and sat, taking in the view. To the right, I could see inside Nina’s house because the curtains were open. There was light and movement. My house sat there like a tomb, quiet and sealed. The curtains were shut tight. No light or air moved through the house. My mom probably sat in the middle of her bed like a deranged bird on a crazy nest of bedsheets that needed to be washed.
The weight of it all pushed down on me. I wasn’t ready to go in yet, but I knew my mom would be waiting for me. If I was late, she’d get worked up. I checked the calendar on my phone. Only 120 days until graduation. I could do this.
I went into the house and started a pot of French roast. Once it was ready, I poured two cups and added sugar to both, leaving them on the table. If the smell didn’t lure my mom out of her room, I’d go get her. In the meantime, I made a PB&J and ate it while I made another two sandwiches, which I cut into fourths and put on a plate.
This was how my mom used to greet me when I came home from school as a kid. Back then, my cup had been full of milk, but I still found the routine comforting, and I think she did, too.
I heard footsteps. My mom came around the corner. “That smells wonderful.”
She sat and sipped her coffee. It was funny, but at times like these she seemed like a normal person, like her old self.
“How was your day?” she asked.
“Pretty good,” I said. “How about you?”
She picked up a sandwich square. “I cleaned out some boxes today.”
The bite I’d taken seemed to lodge in my throat. After taking a drink of coffee, I worked at keeping my tone even. “Really? What did you do?”
“I’ll show you after we eat.”
“Okay.”
“I know your dad doesn’t like it when I move things around, but I wasn’t sure where my magazines were.”
She had three giant tubs of magazines in the bedroom, which my father had clearly labeled with a large black permanent marker. “Weren’t they in the right boxes?”
“It’s hard to find them when they’re in the boxes,” she said.
“If you didn’t keep so many of them, you’d be able to find the ones you wanted.”
“Let me show you what I did.” She stood and headed for her bedroom.
I checked the time on my cell. My dad wouldn’t be home for an hour and a half. Hopefully, I had time to fix whatever she’d done.
I walked in the doorway of her bedroom and leaned against the doorframe, praying for strength. She’d taken all the magazines out and stacked them on the dresser. There had to be hundreds of them. The stacks were so tall you couldn’t see the mirror. She’d also piled them on the floor in the space that had been left as a walkway to the closet.
I ran my hand down my face and worked at keeping my tone even. “Dad won’t like this. We need to put them back in the boxes.”
“Let me worry about your father,” she said.
Right. Like it was that simple. “Why don’t you pick out your favorite magazines, and I’ll put the rest in the recycling bin.”
“There’s no way I could choose,” my mom said. “I need all of them.”
If I argued, she’d become agitated, so I tried another tactic. “Do you have any car magazines? Charlie said he and Matt were looking at cars.”
“I do have some car magazines.” She brightened and went over to the stacks on the dresser. After a few minutes, she came back holding a dozen Car and Driver magazines. “See, this is why I never throw anything away, because you never know when you might need it.”
“Thanks, Mom, I’m sure Charlie and Matt will appreciate them.” I held my hand out.
She stared at the magazines and then at my hand. Retreating a step, she hugged the magazines to her chest. “Tell them they can come here and read them. That way I won’t lose them.”
Why had I thought that might work? Time to retreat. “Sure. I’m going to start on my homework now.”
“Okay.” My mom went back to her bed, still clutching the magazines.
I didn’t actually feel like doing homework, so I headed into the living room and shifted a few boxes so I could climb over them toward the middle of the room. That way, if my mom wandered in, she wouldn’t be able to spot me right away. I opened a tub and filled an old backpack with junk mail that had to be at least five years old. When another sliver of paper wouldn’t fit inside, I snuck back out, grabbed my coat, and went out the sliding glass patio doors into the backyard.
I crept across the patio, through the grass, and out past the shed to an old overgrown basketball court that the former owners of the house had installed, which my dad never had any use for. I kept an old barbecue grill and a couple of lawn chairs on the cracked concrete slab for plausible deniability. I opened the grill and dumped the old mail inside. From the cooler I kept near the grill, I pulled out a container of lighter fluid. After dousing the papers, I threw a few charcoal briquettes on top and then tossed in a match. The lighter fluid-soaked paper burst into flames.
There was something cathartic about watching things burn. Not that I was an arsonist, but these papers, these things my mother insisted on hoarding, had destroyed our normal lives. Now I spent most of my time hiding the truth or telling lies to cover things up. Burning these magazines and papers to ash felt like retribution.
Not that I liked to admit it, but more than one night I’d fantasized about burning the entire house down. I’d make sure my parents weren’t inside, of course, but if the house and all my mother’s crazy garbage went up in flames, maybe we could start over somewhere else. Start over in a nice, clean house where we weren’t drowning in Rubbermaid containers and my mom’s insanity.
Chapter Nine
Nina
After I finished my English homework, I took Gidget out in the backyard to play Frisbee. One of the strange features of our rental house, along with the shared driveway, was the fence that ran around our backyard also ran around West’s. It made me wonder if whoever built these houses was from some strange cult trying to form their own compound. But that’s probably also why the rent was cheaper than average, which, according to my mom, had been a major selling point.
And we’d needed a fenced backyard for Gidget, but this all-encompassing fence arrangement meant I had to try to teach her to stay in our allotted area. I had a feeling West’s dad wouldn’t be too happy to find a present from Gidget on his s
ide of the property.
I threw the Frisbee toward West’s house and Gidget ran full tilt, leaping into the air to catch it in her mouth. Then she trotted back to me and dropped it at my feet, exuding pure joy. That was one of the things I loved about her. She was always so happy in the moment, like life was meant to be lived to the fullest. Sometimes, I wish I could be more like her.
I kept an eye on West’s house, watching for any movement. The entire house was wrapped up tight. I couldn’t even see any light in the windows. What was that about? Did they have blackout curtains? Sometimes when the sun hit the glass just right, it looked like something was pushing the curtains against the glass, but that couldn’t be right. No one put furniture in front of windows. That would be crazy.
I threw the Frisbee and it went wide, veering over behind West’s shed. Gidget didn’t seem to care that she’d be trespassing and ran over to where the Frisbee had flown. I followed along, just in case West’s crabby dad was in the vicinity. I didn’t want him yelling at her when my Frisbee skills were to blame.
Instead of grabbing the Frisbee and running back to our yard, Gidget sniffed the air like she’d caught scent of something and kept on going.
“Gidget, get back here.” I ran after her and came upon a strange scene. West was sitting in a lawn chair on a basketball court overgrown with weeds, and he was barbecuing. The way he stood and glared at Gidget and me made me think we’d interrupted some type of strange man-ritual.
“What are you doing out here?” West demanded.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude into your…” I waved my hand around to take in the weird area, “whatever this place is. My Frisbee throw was off, and Gidget must’ve caught scent of whatever you were barbecuing and came to investigate.” I looked at the grill. He had a ton of paper in there and a few pieces of charcoal. Weird. The meat must still be in the cooler, because he wasn’t cooking anything yet. “Are you sure that’s how you’re supposed to barbecue?” I asked.
“I’m sure it’s none of your business.”
I backed up a step. “Okay, Mr. Crabby Pants. Message received. Sorry I intruded on your sacred barbecue court.”
He glared at me, so I patted Gidget on the head. “Come on, girl. Let’s go home.”
…
I went inside and checked on the taco meat my mom had put in the Crock Pot. The spicy aroma made my stomach rumble. I cut up some lettuce and tomatoes. By the time she came home with the shells, everything was ready. As we fixed our plates, I told her about West’s strange behavior.
“Maybe that’s his secret clubhouse out there,” she said. “And girls aren’t allowed.”
“He’s a little old for that,” I said. “Maybe it’s just a place where he can get away from his mom and dad.”
My mom set her taco down. “That’s sad.”
“That entire house is sad. Did you ever notice that there aren’t any lights on inside?” I took a bite of my taco. A few shreds of lettuce landed on my plate. I chewed and swallowed while I thought about this situation. “It’s almost like they’re trying to keep some secret locked up inside. It’s kind of twisted. Like what if West’s dad keeps his mom locked up in the basement?”
“I think you’ve watched too many creepy movies. The man might have antisocial issues, but I doubt he keeps his wife on lockdown.” My mom frowned. “I wish we could do something to help.”
A knock sounded on the back patio door. I went to investigate. West stood there with his hands shoved in his jeans pockets.
I slid the door open. “Hey, West. We’re having tacos, if you want to join us.”
He blinked at me like I was crazy. “Why do you keep trying to feed me?”
I shrugged. “Just being neighborly.” Plus as annoying as he could be, I doubted anyone took care of him. His dad didn’t seem like the caregiving type.
“Listen, I didn’t mean to yell at you earlier,” he said. “You caught me off guard. I go out there to think.”
“And barbecue?”
“Sometimes,” he said. “Sometimes, like tonight, I just want to build a fire.”
“They make these fabulous things called fire pits,” I said.
The way his eyebrows slammed together told me he didn’t think my comment was funny. And he had come over to make amends.
“Sorry. Sarcasm is my first language. It’s cool that you go out there to think. And I’ll do my best to stay away and keep Gidget in our yard.”
The sound of his dad’s giant SUV pulling up the driveway reverberated through the air.
“I should go.” He ran back toward the basketball court.
Did he not want his dad to see us talking? That was weird. Then again, nothing about his family was normal.
Chapter Ten
West
I headed back to my barbecue court, which was a funny and accurate name. I checked to make sure the fire had burned to ash and then headed back to the house.
A house that always stunk of dust and decay, rather than Mexican food, which kind of made me mad. Why couldn’t my parents pull their shit together? I opened the back door and smelled pizza.
My dad glanced up. “There you are. Come eat while the pizza is still warm.”
And now I felt like a jerk for my earlier thoughts. My dad was probably doing the best he could. “Thanks. That smells great.”
After dinner, I felt antsy. I pulled up the latest science fiction book I’d been reading, but it didn’t hold my interest. My mind kept wandering to Nina. Oddly confrontational, yet attractive, Nina. What was her story?
I’d heard that they’d moved here when her parents divorced. Her mom seemed normal, which made me wonder what her dad had done. Nina’s pathological insistence on telling the truth made me think her dad must have lied or cheated.
Not that it was any of my business, but I liked to figure out why people behaved the way they did. I’d Googled a bunch of stuff about mental illness, hoping to find something to help my mom. All it had done was make me question my own sanity. Everyone was weird in one way or another. Most people figured out an acceptable way to behave while they were out in public.
My biggest fear was that one day I’d end up like my mom, trapped in my own house, drowning in useless possessions. This line of thought was getting me nowhere, so I changed into track pants and a sweatshirt and headed out for a run.
As my feet pounded the pavement, a wave of calmness flowed over me. This was why I ran. As I ran past the houses in the neighborhood, I noticed who had lights on and whose houses were dark like mine. Was no one home in the dark houses, or were other people drowning in junk like my mom?
…
The next day in social studies, Mr. Grant gave us a list of projects around town that needed volunteers. “I don’t expect you to be altruistic at this age, so anyone who helps out with these projects will receive extra credit.”
“Why?” a girl in the front row asked.
“Because people coming together to make their community a better place is important. Too many times people lose themselves in their own concerns or in online communities, and they forget to look around and take an interest in their neighbors’ lives.”
Charlie leaned over and said, “You don’t have that problem.”
I snorted.
“Something you wanted to add, West?”
Busted. And for that, Charlie would pay…later. For now, I scanned the paper Mr. Grant had passed out. “What’s going on with the library?”
“The Hilmer Library was built in 1912. It’s suffered water damage from leaking pipes, and the heat and air need to be updated. It’s become too expensive to maintain. Plans to build the new library have been delayed due to political red tape and funding. I believe they are supposed to break ground for the new building next spring. Brandt Recycling purchased the Hilmer building with the intention of turning it into a recycling center. There’s some shelving and woodwork that can be salvaged before the conversion. Is that a project you’d be interested in working o
n?”
Not really, but I could fake it. “Sounds interesting.”
“I suggest you gather a group of friends. I’ll talk to the contractors and let you know when you can help.”
The bell rang, saving me from further suck-uppery. Once we were in the hall, I punched Charlie. “Tell Matt it’s your fault that he’s been volunteered for salvage duty.”
At lunch, I shared the good news with Matt. In his typical easygoing style, he shrugged. “Sure. Maybe they’ll have something in there we can use at the nursery.”
Matt and Charlie’s dad owned Patterson Landscaping. Funny how they would inherit a thriving business, and I was going to inherit a house full of Rubbermaid boxes full of worthless junk.
It’s not like you could choose who your parents were. I’d never understood how my antisocial dad could be their dad’s brother. It’s not like my uncle was everybody’s friend; I knew he preferred to work outside with plants and trees rather than dealing with people, but at least he was able to interact with people and keep a business afloat.
When my mom first became ill, I’d spent a lot of time over at my cousins’, hanging out with Matt and Charlie and Haley. I’d thought my mom was going through a phase, like when she’d bought a bunch of rusty, old farm tools at garage sales and put them up on shelves all over the kitchen, or when she’d made dozens of candles in old teacups. Instead of getting better, her collecting turned into hoarding. It was like someone had flipped a switch in her brain that made every item seem like a precious treasure she couldn’t live without.
My dad dealt with all of it by storing her crap in Rubbermaid boxes. All I could do back then, and now, was sit back and watch as waves of boxes took over our house. Sneaking out what I could, when I could, felt like a small victory. I no longer dreamed of moving in with my cousins. I dreamed of graduating, moving out, and never looking back.
Chapter Eleven
