Mom and Jo I slam through the front door. Jo must be
home already because the CD player is blasting through the house with the
bass turned up so loud the dirty dishes in the kitchen sink are rattling. Mad
as I am, I catch a whiff of Mom's smelly soap. Her laugh reaches my ears and
I think, Good, they're both here. The bathroom door is
closed, but I don't care. I burst in. “Why did you do this to me?” I scream. Jo says, “Geezus, Nick. Ever heard of knocking?” She and Mom, who
are both in the bathtub naked, slide down below the bubbles so I can't see
them. Like I never have. They take baths together all the time. I used to
bathe with them until I got too big. Jo raises a bubbly
arm. “Is school out already? What time is it?” “I hate you! I hate
both of you.” I slam the door in their stupid ugly faces. Out in the backyard,
I find Lucky 2's chewed-up football and fling it as far as I can. She
scrambles to her feet and hobbles over to retrieve it. I throw it again. She
brings it back. I throw it again. She brings it back. The next throw I make
sure she has to weave around the wheelbarrow and the soccer net, then clamber over the rock wall into Mom's strawberry
patch. Lucky 2's wheezing and foaming at the mouth as she drops the football
at my feet. Just as I'm about to launch it again, Jo wrenches it away from
me. “Stop torturing her,”
she says, flames shooting from her eyes. “What is wrong with you?” She slams
the football to the grass, where Lucky 2 paws it and collapses with a moan. Mom comes out the
back door, her hair soaked and stringy. She's got a robe on and she pulls the
belt tighter. The expression on her face is half worry, half mad. I kick the leg of the
picnic table and mutter, “I hate you.” Jo grips my arm hard.
“Don't you ever say that. Don't you ever say that to either of us, you hear?
We do not hate in this house. Now
what's this about? What happened?” I whirl on them.
“You're freaks. That's what. Everybody says so. And you made me a freak too.”
My face burns like it did at school. I was just playing trucks in the dirt
with Matthew, minding my own business, when those big guys showed up at the
kindergarten fence. “Hey, Nick,” one of
them called to me. “Come over here. We want to ask you a question.” I ignored them. “Come on, Nick. It's
an easy question.” Matthew said, “You
know those guys?” “No,” I replied. But
I had a bad feeling. “Nick!” Matthew told me,
“Just go see what they want so they'll shut up. I'll come with you.” We both
got up and brushed off our pants. When we were a foot
away from the fence, one of the guys curled his fingers around the chain
link, smiled, and said, “So, Nick, we were wondering…” He couldn’t finish
because he was laughing. What was so funny? Another one went, “We were
wondering if you had a dick.” They all sniggered. I knew he was trying
to trick me, so I said, “No.” The first kid arched
his eyebrows and sobered up fast. “You don't have a dick, Nick?” He turned to
his buddies. “Nick doesn't have a dick.” They were howling
now. Matthew whispered in my ear that a dick meant a penis. I felt stupid and
shouted at those guys, “I mean, yeah, I do.” The serious guy said,
“Are you sure? Maybe you should check.” Matthew grabbed my
sleeve and tugged. “Let's go. They're being nasty.” Over our shoulders, he
sniped, “I'm going to tell Mr. H you guys are perverts.” That made them laugh
louder. “Ooh, we're real scared.” The serious guy smashed his face against
the fence, glaring at me. He snarled, “Especially since the real pervert is
your mom, Nick. Or should I say moms.” My whole body froze. I
tried to speak, but couldn’t. I wanted to say something, yell at them,
charge, beat the fence so they would go away. The guy's eyes bored
into mine. “That's right, Nicky,” he went. “Your moms are freaks. And so are
you. Dickless Nicholas. Hey, that's a good one.” He
elbowed his buddy to the left. “Dickless Nicholas.”
They both fell to the ground laughing. The guy cupped his hands around his
mouth and hollered across the playground, “Dickless
Nicholas,” indicating me. They all took up the chant: “Dickless
Nicholas. Dickless Nicholas.” I ran into the
classroom and hid in the closet. Jo is looking at me
funny. “Why did you have to be this way?” I yell at Mom and Jo. “Why did you
have to have me?” Mom's face drains of
color, like I stuck a knife in her belly. I don't care. How does she think I
feel? Jo clamps a hand over
my shoulder. “What happened, Nick? Tell us.” I shake loose from
her grasp. I want to tell, but I can't with Mom standing there. She might
cry. The phone rings in
the house and Jo says, “That better be the school.” Mom murmurs, “I'll
get it.” She heads for the house. Jo looks at me.
“Well?” “What's a pervert?” I
ask. Jo's jaw clenches.
She lowers herself to the picnic bench and pulls me close to her. “Did
somebody call you that?” “No. They called you that.” Her face hardens. “They called me Dickless Nicholas.” Jo sucks in her lips,
but can't hide her grin. “Oh, Nick.” She tries to hug me, but I push her
away. “Come on,” she says, “it's kind of funny.” “No, it's not!” I
scream at her. “Okay, I'm sorry.”
She grabs my wrist and hangs on. I'm afraid I might
burst into tears and I don't want to. I'm not a baby. “They're just words,
Nick. They can't hurt you.” She's wrong. They
hurt plenty. On the inside where you can't see the gash. Where you can’t
stitch it up and the scar doesn’t show. But the hurt doesn't go away because
the words keep cutting and reopening the wound. Pervert. Pervert. “So call them
something back,” Jo says. “Like fartface. Or boogerbrain.” I smile a little.
“Mucous membrane,” I suggest. Jo makes a face. “You
watch too much Discovery Channel.” She stands and tousles my hair. “I need a
drink. How 'bout you?” “Where’s my dad?” I
blurt. Those guys made me wonder again. That makes Jo stop.
“You don’t have one,” she says. “Why?” Jo considers that for
a minute. “Why is the world round?” she asks. “Because it is.” “Right. It is what it
is. Now I really need a drink.” “Make mine a double,”
I say. Jo smirks. “Don’t let
your mom hear that.” She bends over to give me a pony ride. I think I’m too
big, but I jump on her back anyway. Mom's hanging up the
phone as we gallop into the kitchen. Jo drops me in the window seat and heads
for the fridge. “Mr. Hasselback got Matthew to tell
him what happened,” Mom says. Her eyes meet mine and she looks…sad. Helpless.
“They have a pretty good idea who did it — these fifth graders who've been
harassing the little kids lately. Mr. H wants to talk to his kids, but he's
not sure what to tell them. Or how. He wants to know what we want him to do.” “Tell them the
truth,” Jo says. “No!” I cry. Jo shuts the fridge
and tosses me a Coke. She pops the top on her beer. Mom says, “You’ve
already had two.” Jo mutters, “But
who’s counting?” Mom sighs. Jo glugs. She swipes
her mouth and says, “So, what'd you tell Mr. H?” She leans against the
kitchen counter. “I told him we'd get
back to him.” Mom scrapes out a chair and sits at the table. Jo loops a leg
over the chair cattycorner from her. She drinks her beer, wiggling her
eyebrows at me. Mom must've switched off the CD player before answering the
phone because it’s quiet. Too quiet. She winds a strand of damp hair behind
her ear and says softly, “I told you this would happen.” Jo goes, “And I told
you we'd deal with it. Nick” — she twists to face me — “you have two moms.” “Duh,” I say. She cricks a lip.
“You know we're gay, right?” I roll my eyes. “And you know what
gay means, right?” Mom cuts in, “He's
only five, Jo.” “Five and
three-quarters,” I say. “He understands.” Jo tips
her beer. She swallows. “You know your mom and I love each other, right? And
we love you. That doesn't make us perverts. That makes us happy and it makes
you lucky to have so much love in your life.” “Yeah, right,” I
mumble. “I’m so lucky.” I study my shoes. There's a drawing of Lucky 2 on the
left sneaker. I did it with Magic Marker this morning. I'd started to draw my
new fish on the other shoe, but art time ended. “Nick!” I flinch. “What?” Jo widens her eyes at
Mom. “Forget it, Jo,” Mom says. “He's not ready.” “Yes, I am,” I tell
her. “I know I don't have a dad. Kenny DiPoto
doesn't have a dad either because his dad got knifed in jail.” “Geezus,”
Jo breathes. “What kind of neighborhood is this?” Mom's still staring
at me. “Go on,” she says. “What else do you know?” I pick out a chunk of
mud from my tread and flick it on the floor. “Lots of kids don't have dads.
Nobody else has two moms.” “See how lucky you
are? Double the pleasure, double the fun.” Jo swigs the rest of her beer. She
chucks the empty can over Mom's head into the trash, then
heads to the fridge for another. I sip my Coke. “Just because nobody
else in your class has two moms doesn't make it bad,” Mom informs me. “Or
wrong. It means you're different. It means you're special.” “Yeah, right,” I
mumble again. Dickless Nicholas. That's so special. Jo pops the top on
her can and foam oozes out the drinking hole. She sucks it up fast. “Look,” Jo says,
setting her can down hard on the table and swinging into her chair, “if you
want, you can tell the kids you have a dad. His name is Joe.” “No,” Mom says,
louder than she needs to. “We promised we'd never do that. We wouldn’t lie.” “So what?” Jo says.
“We just ignore it? We don’t talk about it?” Mom’s eyes fuse to
Jo’s beer can. “I didn’t say that.” “He's going to have
to learn how to fight, Erin. To defend himself. Because this is just the
beginning. Even if we’re open and honest, he's going to have to live in the
real world. You know that.” “No fighting.” Mom
repeats it to me, “No fighting.” Jo tells her, “I had
to fight. Every day of my life I had to fight.” “Nick isn’t you,” Mom
snaps. Her face changes and she swallows hard. “There are other ways.” “Sure,” Jo says.
“Ignore it. Turn the other cheek. Let everyone use you as a punching bag.
Then it kills you from the inside. They get you coming and going, Erin.” She
takes a long draw on her beer. This talk is scaring
me. Mom turns and blinks
at me. “I'm sorry, Nick. I'm sorry we did this to you.” “We didn't do anything
to him,” Jo snarls. “We gave him life and love. A happy home and a loving
family. He has everything. Everything that counts.” “I don't have Xbox,”
I say. “Matthew has Xbox.” Jo and Mom pause a beat. Their eyes meet and they crack up. I think —
hope — that means they'll get me Xbox. Jo reaches out and places her hand
over Mom’s on the table. Mom takes a deep breath. Jo lifts Mom’s hand and
kisses it. “What do we want Nick's teacher to do?” Mom asks. Jo says, “Nick, what
do you want to do?” I don't even have to
think about it. “Find those kids and kill them.” Jo shrugs at Mom.
“That works for me.”
Nobody
got beat up. Not that time, anyway. Jo went to school with me every day for a
week, though, and stood at the fence. I’d see her out the window during art,
story time, snack time. She’d be posing, posturing
like a tough guy. Yeah, Jo’s real tough. What you see on the
outside isn’t always what you get on the inside, especially with girls. I
learned that the hard way. |
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