Selection from:
Critical Mass
Mark had to go back in the hospital to be treated for nausea, which is what doctor’s call vomiting, puking, throwing up, retching, upchucking, barfing or ralphing. Mom went to visit him every day. Usually she rode with Dad to work and took the car after he got there. Sometimes he’d get a ride home from another worker, or she’d pick him up on her ride home. Sometimes Dad would hitch a ride to work and mom would leave directly from home. Occasionally, if Dad had the day off, both of them would go to the hospital. The hospital had unlimited visiting hours for parents in the children’s wing, but kids are restricted to normal hours, so the rest of us couldn’t go. We’d get bored and cause trouble anyway.
Basically in the summer time, we spend a lot of time at home alone. Pete is old enough to watch us, which meant we had to stay out of his way and not complain if he disappeared for a couple hours with his buddies. I’m old enough to watch myself now. I had to watch Alice when Pete disappeared, so I lobbied her friends and mothers to let her come over and play. Sometimes our aunt would take Alice. We couldn’t leave Alice at home alone and she knew it, so that gave her a license to be a pain in the butt, like I couldn’t go to my friend’s house unless she could come too. Mom and Dad didn’t want us inviting our friends into our house when an adult wasn’t there because of the damage.
The house doesn’t have air conditioning. We would open the windows to get a cool breeze, but if the wind is really strong, things get blown over. Also, when it is really humid, a breeze doesn’t help much. We have a couple of fans, but they are mounted in the window in my parent’s bedroom and by Pete’s bed; you can only stand in front of the fan for so long because there is absolutely nothing else to do. Reading a book or magazine tends to ruffle the pages and I like to change positions every couple of pages.
I’m only eleven years old now, but I’ve already figured out that TV, especially daytime TV, is for morons. There are only four channels, not counting the stupid educational channel, and nothing is ever on. In addition, the Chicago Cubs have got to be the worst baseball team in history. I know they’ve been in the cellar of the National League ever since I’ve been born. They don’t have lights in Wrigley Field, so they always play baseball during the daytime. You can watch them lose a game by walking in the winning run when the bases are loaded, hitting a batter when the bases are loaded, throwing a wild pitch with the winning run on third base, balking in the winning run from third base, having a passed ball by the catcher with the winning run on third base. Or having a throwing error by the shortstop allow a batter to reach first base, as he goes to second another throwing error by the first baseman allows the runner to reach third and when the left fielder flings the ball to the catcher, the catcher drops it, scoring the winning run on three different errors.
The Cubs are very proud of the vines that cover the outfield walls. So an opposing hitter can hit a double into the wall and the Cubs’ outfielder cannot find it, allowing the bases to clear with an inside the park home run. Once the ball lay right behind the outfielder’s feet in the open, but he was so busy going through the vines, he didn’t see it. If the wind is blowing out toward the lake, the opposing team will hit sixteen home runs; I think the wind changes directions when the Cubs bat. No lead the Cubs manage is safe; no matter what inning it is. I’ve seen them blow six run leads in the ninth inning. The announcers make excuses for the Cubs all the time and explain plays that every Little Leaguer understands. I know that when the shortstop fields a grounder and throws it to the second baseman, who steps on the bag before the runner from first reaches it, then throws the ball to the first baseman before the batter reaches first that it is called a double play.
We have a small shopping center two blocks over to the left of our street. There’s a drug store, clothing store, shoe store, department store and grocery store. I don’t have any money nor do I need anything, but I can walk over there to stretch the legs and take a break. My favorite is the grocery store. It is air conditioned and the meat counter and frozen food sections feel like open refrigerators. Hardly anyone is ever in there and you can walk up and down the aisles without getting in a customer’s way. I come in the automatic doors and walk past the bread straight over to the first aisle, which are canned goods. Some of the aisles are for specialty foods, like miniature corn or water crescents and bamboo shoots. Mom never buys those. If I walk along the meat display, I may run my hand along the edge, but I never stick it into the case. The detergent aisle can make you sneeze from all the soap dust. I don’t like fresh fruits and vegetables, which is the last aisle, so I may skip that one and go straight up the frozen section. That aisle ends right in front of the office lane and I can walk through there into the automatic doors without having to go through a checkout lane, cause I never buy anything.
During a heat wave, I started going to the grocery twice a day. The drug store and department store had told me not to come in unless I wanted to buy something. I could tell what days they had stocked the grocery shelves because they went from mostly empty to full lines of cans two or three tall. The meat cooler bulged with packages and the five pound bags of sugar and flour sometimes overflowed onto the floor. One afternoon I had barely passed the automatic doors when two women standing at the spot where the stock boys stuff the bags with groceries behind the cash register looked at me.
“Excuse me young man,” one of them said.
I stopped.
“Can we ask you a question.”
I just looked at them.
“Why do you come in here?”
“I don’t know.”
“I mean, its’ ok. You don’t ever take anything.”
“Just to look around and see the different stuff.”
“You’re not in trouble. We’ve watched you.”
“I would never steal anything.”
“Ok.”
I laid off for a few days, but then the next time I made my tour, the same woman saw me from the office. The other woman was behind the register this time.
“Young man,” she called out to me.
I looked.
“It’s ok. You can come here anytime you want.”
The woman behind the register added. “We heard about your brother. We know he’s in the hospital.”
The woman from the office said, “Come through here whenever you want. We know your mother’s not home a lot. It’s ok.”
I walked back through the yawning doors of the store and you can guess what happened next.
Sunday, January 29, 2012
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
