by Elmore Hammes

(The name of the person who is narrating the scene serves as the chapter title in The Twenty Dollar Bill)

David

I get up early. Mom’s on the couch. I guess I have to feed Whitney again. Don’t know where Jay is. I hardly ever see him anymore. It’s not like it used to be, when he would take me to the park and shoot hoops. Now he’s always running around with his friends. People he doesn’t even want me to meet. I’m not stupid. I know what’s going on with him and his so-called friends. I’m twelve, not six.

I look in the fridge. Nothing but old ketchup and moldy cheese. I should have known when I saw Mom on the couch, the empty bottle lying on its side on the coffee table, that she hadn’t bought any groceries. My stomach rumbled at the thought of another day at school without lunch.

I have to find something for Whitney to eat. I open up the corner cupboard, search behind the half-melted plastic bowls and find the oatmeal. I look on the back of the box. Supposed to add milk. I pour some into a pot and add water instead. I pour an extra cup of oatmeal in to make up for the missing milk, hoping that will make it nutritious enough for Whitney. Don’t have anything else to make, I guess it will have to do.

Once I feed Whitney I can walk her over to Alice’s. Don’t want to leave her with Mom. Have to leave by six so I can make it to school on time. Today’s my favorite day, we get to go downtown to the main library. I remember the permission slip and the lunch money for eating out stashed in my backpack. I think about Mom and the bottle. I leave the pot simmering and rush to the door where my backpack leans against the wall.

It’s gone. She took my money, the money Jay gave me so I could go to the library and eat at McDonald’s with the rest of my class. I want to yell, to run over to the couch and wake her up and ask her why she hates me, why she has to ruin everything for me. I crumple up the permission slip, holding onto it tightly in a curled up ball in my fist, until my fingernails bite into my skin and draw blood.

I open my fist and smooth the paper, place it back into my backpack. Doesn’t matter. I’ll just get my books and find a corner to read, the heck with McDonald’s.

I go back to the kitchen and stir the oatmeal. It doesn’t look right, it is too lumpy and I wonder how I will get Whitney to eat it. I hear the deadbolt slide in the door and Jay comes in. He looks tired, like he’s been walking all night.

Jay figures out what Mom did. He also tells me what’s wrong with the oatmeal, gives me twenty bucks so I can go to McDonald’s and then says he will take care of Whitney this morning. I love Jay, I do. And times like this, I can tell he still loves me, too.

I grab my backpack and put the money in with the permission slip, then take off for school. I’m happy, thinking about McDonald’s and finding books at the library and shooting hoops with Jay. Not thinking about Mom. Nope, today is a good day, and those thoughts don’t fit it.