you need me to do
—
“Someone’s at the door for you, Lena,” my mother called. “It’s a young man.”
A young man?
I folded up the letter I’d been writing and went down the stairs and saw the familiar jagged black haircut, the torn jeans and T-shirt, the gray-blue eyes. “Hey, Jimmy.”
My mother stood in the hall, a department store dummy.
“Mom,” I said. “You remember Jimmy Zenk.”
“Nice to see you again,” my mother said, all cool politeness. “Lena, it’s getting late for visitors.”
“It’s Friday, Mom,” I said. “Besides, Jimmy and I are working on a history project together.” This was a lie, and my mother probably suspected that it was a lie, but how would she prove it?
Jimmy followed me down the hall and into the kitchen, where he immediately opened the refrigerator. “Are these eggs organic?” he asked. “I could make us an omelet.”
“It’s nine o’clock, Jimmy. Didn’t you have dinner?”
“Yeah, I ate.” He closed the refrigerator and pulled out a chair and sat down at the table. “My mom said you called me.”
I felt my face flush. “You weren’t in school today,” I said. “So I was just wondering.”
“Wondering what?”
“Why you were absent. Were you sick?”
“No. I had some stuff I needed to do.” He was watching me closely.
I sat down across from him. “You’re probably absent a lot. I go to school every day,” I said.
“Yup.” He picked up my index finger and tapped it against the table. “You’re pretty faithful.”
My mother breezed into the kitchen and noisily poured herself a glass of water. I unfolded the note I’d been writing to Dora and picked up a pencil. “Okay, about Paul Revere,” I said. “Was it ‘One if by land and two if by sea’ or was it the other way around?” My mother left.
“I get the feeling your mother doesn’t like me very much,” Jimmy said.
“She doesn’t,” I agreed. I smoothed out the piece of paper. “We went to see Dora last night.”
“Yeah?” Jimmy stood up and paced around the kitchen, picking up a jar full of sunflower seeds. “These are good for you, right?”
I said they probably were. “She didn’t look good,” I said. “My mom read her a story. A fairy tale for little kids.”
Jimmy unscrewed the lid of the jar and tossed back a handful of sunflower seeds. “Are you okay?”
“I wasn’t talking about me.”
“I noticed.” Jimmy had a scar at the corner of his mouth that made his upper lip slightly uneven. He tossed back another handful of seeds.
“Most people don’t know what it’s like,” I said.
“Then tell me. What is it like?” Jimmy leaned against the cabinet, crossing his legs.
“I think it’s like a trapdoor,” I said. “Dora’s depression—it’s like a trapdoor under her feet. Sometimes the trapdoor is closed and she walks right by it, but all of a sudden one day it opens and she plunges through. And there she is, walking around underneath us, under the life she’s supposed to be living, but she can’t find a ladder and she can’t get back.” I started doodling on the piece of paper. “I guess that’s my metaphor for the day.”
“It was a simile,” Jimmy said. “If you use the word
like
it’s a simile.”
I stared at him. “How do you know things like that?” I asked.
“I keep my ears open,” Jimmy said. “I stay alert.” He screwed the lid back onto the jar and set it down by the stove. “Can I have some water?”
“Sure. Glasses are behind you.” I started to wish that I hadn’t called him. “Did everything turn out all right with your brother?” I asked. “I don’t remember his name.”
“Mark?” Jimmy filled up a glass. “Mark lives in Cleveland.”
“Oh. Is that good?”
“For him it is. He wants to be an EMT—you know, one of the guys in the ambulance who shows up when you dial 9-1-1.”
“That’s great. Well, thanks for coming over, Jimmy,” I said.
“Do you want me to leave now? Am I
—
“Someone’s at the door for you, Lena,” my mother called. “It’s a young man.”
A young man?
I folded up the letter I’d been writing and went down the stairs and saw the familiar jagged black haircut, the torn jeans and T-shirt, the gray-blue eyes. “Hey, Jimmy.”
My mother stood in the hall, a department store dummy.
“Mom,” I said. “You remember Jimmy Zenk.”
“Nice to see you again,” my mother said, all cool politeness. “Lena, it’s getting late for visitors.”
“It’s Friday, Mom,” I said. “Besides, Jimmy and I are working on a history project together.” This was a lie, and my mother probably suspected that it was a lie, but how would she prove it?
Jimmy followed me down the hall and into the kitchen, where he immediately opened the refrigerator. “Are these eggs organic?” he asked. “I could make us an omelet.”
“It’s nine o’clock, Jimmy. Didn’t you have dinner?”
“Yeah, I ate.” He closed the refrigerator and pulled out a chair and sat down at the table. “My mom said you called me.”
I felt my face flush. “You weren’t in school today,” I said. “So I was just wondering.”
“Wondering what?”
“Why you were absent. Were you sick?”
“No. I had some stuff I needed to do.” He was watching me closely.
I sat down across from him. “You’re probably absent a lot. I go to school every day,” I said.
“Yup.” He picked up my index finger and tapped it against the table. “You’re pretty faithful.”
My mother breezed into the kitchen and noisily poured herself a glass of water. I unfolded the note I’d been writing to Dora and picked up a pencil. “Okay, about Paul Revere,” I said. “Was it ‘One if by land and two if by sea’ or was it the other way around?” My mother left.
“I get the feeling your mother doesn’t like me very much,” Jimmy said.
“She doesn’t,” I agreed. I smoothed out the piece of paper. “We went to see Dora last night.”
“Yeah?” Jimmy stood up and paced around the kitchen, picking up a jar full of sunflower seeds. “These are good for you, right?”
I said they probably were. “She didn’t look good,” I said. “My mom read her a story. A fairy tale for little kids.”
Jimmy unscrewed the lid of the jar and tossed back a handful of sunflower seeds. “Are you okay?”
“I wasn’t talking about me.”
“I noticed.” Jimmy had a scar at the corner of his mouth that made his upper lip slightly uneven. He tossed back another handful of seeds.
“Most people don’t know what it’s like,” I said.
“Then tell me. What is it like?” Jimmy leaned against the cabinet, crossing his legs.
“I think it’s like a trapdoor,” I said. “Dora’s depression—it’s like a trapdoor under her feet. Sometimes the trapdoor is closed and she walks right by it, but all of a sudden one day it opens and she plunges through. And there she is, walking around underneath us, under the life she’s supposed to be living, but she can’t find a ladder and she can’t get back.” I started doodling on the piece of paper. “I guess that’s my metaphor for the day.”
“It was a simile,” Jimmy said. “If you use the word
like
it’s a simile.”
I stared at him. “How do you know things like that?” I asked.
“I keep my ears open,” Jimmy said. “I stay alert.” He screwed the lid back onto the jar and set it down by the stove. “Can I have some water?”
“Sure. Glasses are behind you.” I started to wish that I hadn’t called him. “Did everything turn out all right with your brother?” I asked. “I don’t remember his name.”
“Mark?” Jimmy filled up a glass. “Mark lives in Cleveland.”
“Oh. Is that good?”
“For him it is. He wants to be an EMT—you know, one of the guys in the ambulance who shows up when you dial 9-1-1.”
“That’s great. Well, thanks for coming over, Jimmy,” I said.
“Do you want me to leave now? Am I
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