Hold Me Tight
Page 8
Wally and I straighten the bookshelf.
I’m slamming the books back
as far as they’ll go.
”Essie.” Wally grips my wrist.
”What’s wrong?”
I pick at one of the book spines.
”I don’t know.
I just feel so—
mad. I want to whack someone.”
”No kidding. Can I get my little sister,
Wilhelmina, for you?
She could use some serious whacking.”
Laughter burbles up
out of somewhere deep in me.
”I’m serious,” says Wally.
”My parents don’t believe
in telling the kid no. She can dump my plate of spaghetti
on her head,
and they thinks it’s cute.
They get the camera!”
Wally stands up
and imitates Wilhelmina.
He toddles around
like a goofball
until I’m rolling on the floor
laughing so hard.
”How about a little focus,”
Ms. Dryden calls to us.
”Right,” we say together.
And swallow our giggles
because everyone
is staring.
At the Curb
”See you at the party!”
Buffy calls to Jarin.
Joe stops her.
”What time is it at?”
”Five,” She pushes back her hair.
”I’m so glad you can come, Joe.
This is my first boy/girl party.”
”I don’t have anything else to do,” he says
and tears off to the buses.
Jarin sees me staring.
She flounces off.
Who wants to go to a stupid
boy/girl party anyway?
Even if it is Wynette’s Wave World.
Whatever.
I chuck my backpack on the curb
and wait for Dale and Mom.
Pea Soup
Mom groans.
Dale and I
look up from our pea soup.
”It’s okay,” she says
and snaps the elastic away from her belly.
Dale slurps another spoonful.
”There is one thing
I need to discuss with you both.”
I put my spoon down
and Doozerdude squeezes his tight.
”We don’t have money
for a Christmas tree.”
”But Mom,” Dale starts.
She holds up her hand.
He shoves back his chair
and runs to her
for a hug.
”I’m sorry. So sorry,” she whispers.
I gulp.
”We can decorate your plant
by the couch,” I suggest.
”What a good idea, Estele.”
She reaches over
and squeezes my hand.
Not getting a tree
is Dad’s fault
as much as
this awful
green, lumpy soup.
Dinky
”Come on and join us, Estele.”
Mom pulls me onto the couch
with her and Dale.
The little breeze
coming through the screen
keeps us from sticking together.
The three of us
watch the fake-looking
Christmas program.
I used to love these
little puppet guys moving around,
singing carols,
worried Christmas wouldn’t come,
or Rudolph wouldn’t make it,
or the Abominable Snowman
was going to get everyone.
It seemed so exciting.
Now it looks dinky.
Compared to
Chris being kidnapped
and Dad leaving us.
It’s silly,
but I watch it anyway
just to be snuggled up to Mom.
This is way better
than Jarin’s stupid party.
Especially
when it starts to pour rain!
Interruption
The phone rings.
”I’ll get it.”
I reach over.
”Hello?”
”Well, hello, Estele Leann.
Don’t you sound beautiful tonight.”
Mr. Paul.
”Uh, do you want to talk to Mom?”
”Yes, I’d like that very much.”
I hand the phone to her quick
to get rid of the cooties
crawling up my arm.
Mom gets up
and our snuggle time is shot.
Dale leans over.
”Get off.” I nudge him away.
”Rroaarrr,” he says like Abominable.
”Would you two hush,” Mom whispers.
Great.
He gets me in trouble again.
Like forever.
Getting to Laze Around
I hang out in bed
all morning.
Just lazing around and reading,
totally by myself.
The voices from the TV in Mom’s room
drift under my door
while she’s doing the ironing.
”All leads turned out to be dead ends in the search for the missing boy. The police and family continue to maintain hope despite the length of time since his disappearance.”
God, I pray,
please, please, please
help the police find Chris
so he can hang out in his own room
totally alone
like I get to. He missed Snow Day,
and the fitness test,
and Jarin’s dumb party,
which isn’t so bad,
but he needs to get home
and be able to hang out.
He’s a kid, God, like me.
Please?
Up and at ’Em
”Come on, Estele.
Up and at ’em.”
Mom rolls me out of bed
and sits down on it herself.
”But why do I need to get up?” I whine.
”Why?
”Because it isn’t healthy
to stay in bed all day.”
She picks up some clothes
off the floor with her toes
and flicks them at me.
I giggle
because she can’t lean over
with her big belly.
”Stop your laughing
and get dressed.”
I clutch the clothes.
”Is Dad coming or something?”
She shakes her head no
and rolls to her side to stand.
”Not that I know of.
But it’s good to face the day
head on.”
She goes out.
”Change, Estele.”
I do.
Head On
I stand in the dim, stuffy garage
and breathe in
as much as I can.
I close my eyes.
It’s Dad.
The oil smell
from the car.
The gas from the mower.
The dead grass
I rolled in on the wheels last time.
It’s Dad.
I wipe the tear
on my T-shirt,
let out a shaky sigh,
and hurl up the garage door.
The sunshine blasts in,
and a tiny wind
whisks Dad away.
Stronger
It’s not as hard this time.
The grass
isn’t as tall
as Dad lets it get.
Plus
I’m stronger,
since I did it once already.
My fingers grip the handle,
and I push the mower
the length of the lawn.
Bits fly out to the side.
Chopped, tiny pieces
fling out.
I did that.
I turn at the edge
and head back.
The grass quivers
before
I roll right over it.
Sunday School
Winsome and Michaela
are talking about
Jarin’s party
in Sunday school.
”Girls,” interrupts
Mrs. Villanueva,
”not now.”
They giggle
and settle down.
Man. Anger
is creeping up my face again.
It’s squinching me tight.
I try to sing
”Oh, Worship the King”
but give up halfway through.
Everything is pressing down so heavy
my song can’t get out.
Looking at Mom
Mom shifts in the pew.
Her knees are opened up—
not very ladylike,
she tells me
when I try to sit like that.
Wow. And her ankles
are chubbed up totally.
She squirms some more.
Doozerdude is doing better
sitting still
than she is.
Going
”It’s an oven!” I cry.
”Roll down the windows!”
says Mom.
Dale and I do
as fast as we can.
She peels the car
out of the church parking lot
to get the air moving.
Pretty soon she’s going sixty-five
down the turnpike.
Doozerdude hangs his head out.
”Yow!” he yells.
Mom’s hair is whipping around her face
and she’s smiling.
Even my heavy braids
raise a bit in the wind.
It’s like we actually
are going somewhere.
And we’re doing it
fast!
Weird
Mom turns the car
toward home.
”Dry your tongue out,” says Dale.
”Okay.”
We both stick our tongues
out in the breeze
the whole way home.
Mom pulls into the driveway.
”Done,” we try to say
and bring them back in.
Doozerdude and I crack up.
Our tongues are dry, and cold,
and puffed up.
Like they don’t even belong
to us
because
they’ve been outside
too long.
Weird.
Normal
The whole big week
before Christmas vacation
zooms by
like normal.
We finish up studying the Sumerians
and their cuneiform writing.
Ms. Dryden says when we come back,
we’ll look at the Egyptians
and their hieroglyphics.
Wally and I play at recess,
swinging or on the bars.
Chris’s friends play ball
without him.
Jarin whispers secrets
with her group.
I make it through another counselor visit
without really answering his questions.
The week zips by.
How can everything
be so un-normal
and normal
at the same time?
I lean forward
and rub my hand
across the back
of Chris’s chair.
I’m getting a headache.
Totally normal.
Cleaned Out
”Squirt your desktop
with this cleaner.”
Ms. Dryden holds up a bottle.
”Wipe it dry with a paper towel.
Clean out all your old papers
and whatever else you find inside.
Leave your desks clean
so that when you come back
after winter vacation,
you’ll start fresh.”
I finish up my desk,
then scrub
the top of Chris’s
spotless.
A Tree!
Dale launches out of the car
before Mom even stops.
”It’s a tree,
it’s a tree!”
He jumps up and down.
”Who—” asks Mom.
”Daddy left this for us!” Dale squeals.
Doozerdude runs back and forth
around the branches
leaning up
against the front door.
Mom gets a big smile
across her face.
It wasn’t Dad.
I slide down in the seat.
It was Mr. Paul.
Blinking Lights
Doozerdude is dancing around,
wrapped up in lights
that are blinking on and off.
I hate the blinkers.
I like the tree to stay lit
the whole same way
the whole time.
Not on, off. On, off.
It makes me feel jumpy
wondering if they are going to
make it on again.
”Thank you for the tree, Paul,” says Mom,
and she wanders into the kitchen
with the phone.
Dale stops and stands still.
That’s the saddest
lit-up-with-lights face
ever.
”It doesn’t matter that
Dad didn’t bring the tree,
Doozerdude.”
He starts crying
while I unwind him
before he gets
electrocuted or something.
The Weekend
Because only a few presents are under
Mr. Paul’s tree,
it is more real
that Dad’s gone.
I’d rather not have had
a stupid tree
at all.
At school
Joe was saying
the Crows have a giant tree
and tons of gifts
hoping Chris will
come home in time.
I bet it
only makes it more real to them
that he’s gone.
Scurrying to Make Gifts
We are each
cutting and pasting
and hiding stuff
in our drawers and closets.
Little scraps of paper
are all over the house
as we scrounge
to make each other gifts.
I tear a piece of tape in half
so we don’t run out
before everything
gets wrapped.
King
All the hymns at church
are ones I love
about Christ being born.
Mrs. Villanueva
reminded us in Sunday school,
“Christ isn’t a baby anymore.
He’s the ruling king.”
That’s true.
But I think
this time of year
everyone
likes to think
of babies.
They are a whole lot
less scary than ruling kings.
I snuggle up next to Mom
as we sing
“Away in a Manger,”
and our baby rolls
against my arm.
Goose bumps pop out on me.
Babies,
when they finally get born,
can be pretty scary too.
No School
&
nbsp; It’s weird to wake up
and not have to go to school
on a Monday.
Tap, tap.
I nudge the curtain.
Doozerdude is outside looking in.
“What?” I ask.
“Get up. There’s no school.”
“No duh.”
I drop the curtain
and flop back down.
“Come on, Es.
Come out and play.
I’m digging a fort
to get away from the dragon.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.”
I roll over
and get my fantasy book
off the floor.
This is so way better.
Reading about it.
You don’t get
dirty.
Lunch
Dale takes a big bite
out of his bologna and grape jelly sandwich.
Gross.
“Don’t you wish,”
he asks with his mouth
disgustingly full,
“that we had snow?”
“Sure.”
“I could dig in the snow.”
“Yeah.”
“And I could make a fort
to keep away the Abominable Snowman.”
I set down
my peanut butter and jelly sandwich.
“Or you could hide out,” I say,
“from anyone in there.
Even if they were looking for you.
You could be deep inside the cold.
Totally safe.
And only come out
when you
felt like seeing someone.”
I wipe the crumbs
off the table.
“Do you think Chris
is just hiding out, Es?”
“No. I don’t.”
Mom bustles by
with a load of laundry.
“What are you two talking about?”
“Snow!” shouts Dale.
She shifts the basket
and nudges the sweat off her forehead.
“A little snow right now
would be a miracle!”
“Yeah,” Doozerdude and I say together.
A Vigil
“There’s a candlelight vigil
for Chris on Christmas night,”
Mom calls from the garage.
Dale swallows.
“What’s a vigil, Es?”
“It’s when everyone lights a candle
and stands around thinking
about a person.”
“Oh. Like praying for him?”
“Yeah.”
Mom comes back in.
“So you two want to go, right?”
We both nod.
“Sounds good to me.
Getting to actually do something,” I say.
“That’s the point.”
Mom tugs one of my braids.
Christmas Eve
I glue part of my button collection
on some cardboard
to frame my school photo.
This is the perfect present for Dad.
I wrap it in the shiny paper
I found in the recycle bin
at school last week.
The doorbell rings.
Dad?
The deliveryman hands Mom an envelope.
She quickly opens it.
I lean close and see that
right across the top it says,