Facts of Life (6 page)

"Nah, ma'am, it happens all the time," argued Hector. "It really does."

Hector was schooled on what to do with a coat hanger. Uncle Rudy had taught him. It was something, Uncle Rudy had argued, that every man—and woman—needed to master. The old bird of an uncle had also taught Hector to hot-wire a car and siphon gas.

"My son lives in Turlock," the woman said absently. She confessed that he didn't have time for her, that he was a fertilizer salesman always on the road.

Hector noticed that her own lawn was brownish.
Couldn't her son come by and sprinkle pellets on her lawn? he
wondered. Then an awful thought struck him. Was he going to be like her son, on the road forever? Would he be a fertilizer salesman throwing pellets on every lawn except his mother's? The image evaporated as he realized this elderly woman smelled like a flower too close to his face, and that his mother—he winced—gave off a scent of ink. She was a part-time Realtor, and what mattered to her was when the ink dried—or so he remembered her saying on the phone.

"There," he said, and opened the car door so he could pull the keys from the ignition.

The woman applauded as she rose from the stool—an ovation for his handiwork. She gave him a pale five-dollar bill, which Hector thought must have gone through the wash. It was soft, clean, and faded, perhaps bleached in a load of whites. Any other time, Hector would have declined the money, but he remembered his uncle, who, if he had appeared from behind that ancient car, would have scolded, "Boy, don't be stupid! Take that money!" It was five dollars for the road.

After this untimely chore, Hector turned, full of panic, because the dog was gone. He called, "Dog, dog, where are you?" He sprinted down the street and found the canine poking his nose into a McDonald's bag. His whiskered face rose from the bag; a French fry hung like a cigarette from his mouth.

The two continued their journey.

Hector followed behind, then moved in front when the dog stopped to sniff a lawn, and finally ended up at his side. They were companions, or so Hector wanted to believe. They were leaving the subdivision, saying
adios.
His parents—Hector could envision them—would be sitting on the couch, looking straight ahead. Now and then they would look at the clock. Was the hour over yet?

Leaves scuttled in the wind. Trees shook, over-watered lawns leaked, and porch lights seemed to turn off as they passed. When he asked, "It's not far, is it?" the dog, still in full trot, raised his ruined eyes to Hector. Life, Hector figured, is going to send you to mysterious places.

"I'm going to find a real family," he told himself. He was going to a better place, somewhere where he could live with nature, run with dogs, and howl at the moon.

"I DON'T WANT YOU TWO to goof off," Rachael's mother warned. She was applying lipstick, and lots of it. She made a face at the mirror, as if the heavy application were the reflections fault. She dabbed her lips and turned to her children. "You hear me?"

"Yeah, we wont mess up," Rachael agreed. She figured that she and Freddie had already messed up earlier in the day when they'd been jumping from their neighbor's plum tree. They returned home with bloody elbows. Freddie's lip was swollen and a baby tooth had become as wobbly as a restaurant chair.

Their parents were divorced, but neither of the kids missed a father who sent them presents and money only now and then. Life was like the game of jumping from trees: Sometimes it was fun, and sometimes you got to your feet crying.

The kids watched their mother put on earrings. They were excited for her—a girlfriend was picking her up and they were going to a dance. Rachael and Freddie were going to get a babysitter they'd never met; they hoped she would be fun. They had a rented movie to watch, and their mother had bought them a frozen pizza as large as a sombrero.

"You look pretty, Mom," Freddie said.

"You smell pretty, too," Rachael added. She was about to compliment her on how her dress matched her shoes when the doorbell rang.

The kids jumped and screamed, "It's her!" "Her" was a girl recommended by her mom's
comadre
Lucy. The babysitter had dropped out of school at seventeen, Lucy had said, but she was a good kid and needed work.

When Rachael opened the door, she was surprised to find a girl whose nose was spiked with two chrome rings. She had dark liner under her eyes, and her hair was orange. Studs adorned her ears, six at Rachael's quick count. Her fishnet stockings were pulled awkwardly over her pale thighs.

"Are you the babysitter?" Rachael asked, slightly frightened.

"Yeah," the girl answered flatly. She entered the house, her big boots ringing against the floor. Her long black coat dragged like a shadow.

Girls aren't supposed to be dressed like that,
Rachael found herself thinking, noticing that the coat covered a dress that was too, too short. Her fingernails were painted black. And was that a tattoo circling her wrist?

When her mother clip-clopped into the living room to meet the babysitter, Rachael could see that she was transfixed for a long second before she snapped out of it and said, "You must be Keri."

"Yeah," the girl answered. That one word revealed a chrome ball on her tongue.

"What's that?" Freddie asked, pointing.

"What's what?" his mother peered down at him.

"In her mouth?" Freddie's own tongue appeared, then quickly retracted as if someone might staple a chrome ball to it.

Embarrassed, Rachael squeezed her eyes shut and wished the babysitter's arrival could begin again. Her little brother was such a punk! Rachael expected her mother to admonish Freddie, but she only sighed and looked at her watch. She set rules: one movie, the pizza for dinner, no answering the front door, and no use of the telephone. If they played the stereo, they shouldn't turn it on too loudly.

Soon she was out the door, with a kissy peck for Rachael and two gentle kisses on Freddie's cheek—his lip was still tender. To Keri, she offered a reminder that she should call if there was trouble.

After the front door closed, Keri sat at the kitchen table, her chin in the palm of her hand. Rachael attempted to liven things up. She showed Keri the scrapes on her elbows and recounted how these injuries had occurred. But this display didn't move Keri. Rachael pondered. She decided to inform this babysitter that they were excellent students. Rachael told Keri that she was ten and that her little brother was seven, but they could—and did—already read novels. She described a book about a boy whose parents had moved away without telling him. Rachael chuckled as she recounted a scene of the boy washing the dog in the bathtub.

Keri yawned and revealed a second chrome knob in her mouth.

Rachael then foolishly asked, "What grade are you in?"

"Grade, like, you mean, school?" Keri's eyes were flat. "I'm, like, outta school." She bit a fingernail.

"I'm in second," Freddie said. He then displayed his scraped elbows and showed Keri his thumb, which a fishing hook had punctured when he was real little.

"I'm bored," Keri announced as she brought out a cigarette from the inside of her shirt pocket.

"You smoke?" Rachael asked.

Keri lit up and blew a perfect halo of smoke that hung in the air for a few seconds before it broke apart.

"Smoking's bad," Freddie claimed. "I burned my fingers once."

Keri inhaled and held the smoke in her lungs. Then she slowly let it unfurl and take shape in the air; for a second it resembled a dragon with a whipping tail. But like the halo, it, too, broke apart. She rose and went to the refrigerator.

"What do you got to eat?"

"Pizza!" Freddie screamed.

"Mom also rented us a movie," said Rachael, who was a little put off by this girl. She was unfriendly and just too weird. Rachael surmised that was why she had dropped out: no friends to hang out with. Who would wear a big black coat when it's not cold or raining? And all those metal things in her face? They reminded Rachael of her dad's fishing tackle.

Keri brought the pizza out of the freezer. With a fork, she stabbed at the plastic that encased the pizza while the cigarette hung from her mouth. The ash grew and the cap of red brightened each time she stabbed and struggled with the plastic wrapping. Finally, she fit the pizza into the microwave, but discovered that it was too large—she had to bend it slightly.

Rachael watched as Keri punched in the time and inhaled on her diminishing cigarette. Not wishing to get caught in the stinky smoke, Rachael scooted out of the kitchen and into the living room. Freddie had slid in the DVD and was sitting inches from the screen. He turned and announced, "It's
Nemo.
"

Rachael could feel her mouth tighten. How many times had they seen that babyish movie? Rachael was suddenly aware that Keri was a lot older, especially in experience. Why else would she have a tattoo circling her wrist and one on the back of her neck? Rachael had spied them when Keri had pulled back her hair. Didn't that mean maturity?

Keri appeared in the living room. "What are you going to watch?" she asked.

"
Nemo!
" Freddie screamed.

"Whatever." Keri plopped on the couch and opened her cell phone. No messages. She slunk into the couch, eyes closed, her legs splayed. She scratched her orange hair and breathed deeply.

She thinks were babies,
Rachael realized as she sat a few feet behind her brother on the floor.
I don't care. She stinks of smoke.

The movie drowned out the hum of the microwave. They watched
Nemo,
and Rachael found herself pulled into the narrative. She was startled by a loud pop.

They all jumped up, even Keri, who had fit a grape-flavored lollipop into the corner of her mouth. They scampered into the kitchen, where the window of the microwave was lit more dramatically than the TV screen.

"Oh, my God," Rachael let out.

The microwave beeped. Rachael opened the door slowly. Through the curling steam, the pizza appeared to ooze from the microwave. It reminded Rachael of the movie
The Blob.

"I guess fifteen minutes was too long," Keri remarked. She tapped the crust and licked her finger. "It's still tasty."

"I'm hungry," Freddie said.

"You can eat the pizza like soup," Keri said seriously. "I could put it in a bowl."

Pizza in a bowl!
Rachael grimaced. "How about a sandwich?" she asked. "With all the chips you want."

Freddie rolled his eyes as he judged his sister's recommendation. "No," he concluded. "I want something better."

"How 'bout a hamburger?" Keri suggested.

Freddies mouth arched into a smile, but he released his show of happiness because his spreading grin disturbed his swollen lip.

"We're going to have to drive," Keri said. "Burger King's far away."

"You have a car?" Rachael inquired, searching for a spatula to scrape the cheese from the walls of the microwave.

"I walked. We can use your mom's car."

Rachael stopped. "My mom's car?" She pictured Keri turning corners at ninety miles an hour. "That's, like, against the rules. Mom will really get mad."

"So are you hungry or not?" Keri bent over, fiddled with her fishnet stockings and pulled her ringing cell phone from her boot. She frowned at the number and coolly ignored the call.

"We'll just have sandwiches," Rachael replied.

Rachael made peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for the three of them, and poured potato chips into a bowl. Keri waved her sandwich away, but pinched up a few potato chips. She pulled a candy bar from her purse and took a bite. She then handed the candy bar to Freddie.

Rachael didn't like Freddie eating candy before his meal, even if it was just a sandwich and potato chips.
She's just awful.
Rachael brooded and bit into her sandwich. She munched dramatically to demonstrate that the sandwich, prepared by her own hands, was a tasty treat. She then crunched on a potato chip hard—the chip broke noisily.

But Rachael slowed her eating when Keri brought a slick chrome projectile from her boot and spanked it against her thigh. She uncapped it and applied the black filmy gloss to her lips.

"Black lip gloss," Rachael commented, disgusted.

"Ugh." Freddie rested his candy wrapper on the coffee table.

"It's just makeup. It's like when you dress up for Halloween." Keri stood up and rifled through her coat pocket until she found an earring. "Here, put this on." She unscrewed the post and said that it would look nice hanging from his nose.

"Don't!" Rachael warned. The idea of her little brother wearing an earring in his nose—or any other part of his body—was too much. Rachael began to wonder if there was a law against babysitters like this one.

Freddie studied the earring. "It's for girls," he concluded.

Keri posted her hands on her hips and barked a single laugh. "Are pirates girls? They wear earrings."

"Not in their noses!" Rachael spoke up.

Freddie seemed to think deeply. "Nah, pirates ain't girls. They got, like, swords and knives."

"Ain't isn't a real word," Rachael corrected with a growl.

"Ain't so!" Keri said, and laughed. "It's a real word. I ain't got a problem with it." She ran a hand through her hair and applied her black lip gloss again.

Rachael became starched with surprise when Freddie fit the earring onto his nose and slowly turned the knob until it stayed. He shook his head, and the earring wiggled.

"How do I look?" he asked.

"Ugly," Rachael answered.

He ran to the bathroom with Keri to apply the black lip gloss.

"Don't!" Rachael scolded as she followed in long strides.

"Relax," Keri said. "We're just having fun. It's better than watching a stupid movie."

Rachel had to admit that it was sort of fun seeing her goofy little brother with an earring hanging from his nose. Still, she had to take a stand. "But it's not normal," Rachael countered.

"What's normal?" Keri stated that there were all sorts of ways to dress. Look at Africa, she argued. People wore bones through their noses and cheeks.