said, coming out. “There’ll be no television or video until your next report card.”
“What? You’re taking away TV for two months because of a grade?”
“We both know it’s not your best.”
“What if it is? No, really, Mom. What if it is my best?”
I called my dad to fight, but he interrupted. “I agree with your mother one hundred percent. One hundred percent, Miles.” Then he had to get off the phone. Dickwad.
With no electronics, I had time, so I hitched a ride home with Esmeralda the next Wednesday. She took me to Lucky supermarket, where her son, in his baseball uniform, showed me all his favorite stuff. Chips I’d never seen before—fried pigskins! No shit!They were good, but I didn’t know if I could move them. I bought Mexi-Crisps, prepopped caramel corn, and two different chips, all cheap, and a yellow soda I wanted to introduce. I bought one bag of the pig chips for Hector. Right before I left, I saw Cokes in bottles; they turned out to be Mexican Coke and cost more than regular, even here, but I bought five six-packs, for a luxury item. Esmeralda drove me to the bus stop. When I finally got back, I left the bags outside under the windows of my room to sneak in after dark.
The Mims wasn’t pleased when I walked in at nine twenty, but I’d told her I wanted to see Esmeralda’s home. She couldn’t say anything to that, even though we both knew she’d rather have had me copying algebra problems a hundred times and showing my idiotic work.
22 • A Basement Below a Doctor’s Office
When Boop One made the dance team, our schedule turned wack. Thursdays didn’t work anymore. Esmeralda could pick us up from school, after cleaning Charlie’s house, and drive Boop Two to speech therapy on her way east; I had to go along. Then the speech therapist took us to the dance studio, where we’d wait for Boop One’s carpool. But I couldn’t read in a place that smelled like feet. Finally, we figured out that Esmeralda could drop me off near UCLA; I could work in my mom’s office and then ride back with her. “But I see a doctor Thursday after work,” the Mims said.
“O-kay,” I said. “Just this Thursday?”
“Every Thursday.”
“What kind of doctor?”
She paused. “A therapist.”
“You see a ther apist? For what?”
She shrugged. “Just everything, I guess.”
Once, after I’d been torturing my sister and repeating gobble gobble, the Mims said if we couldn’t get along better we’d have to see a psychologist. I said back, “Dad doesn’t want us going to therapists,” just guessing, but I turned out to be right.
So I sat with my mom in the waiting room doing homework while she watched. A tall woman, my grandmother’s age, opened the door halfway.
“This is Dr. Sally Bach,” my mother said. “This is Miles.”
“Hello, Miles.” The woman’s smile seemed halfway to laughter.
My numbers on the page marched up in a slant and I needed to pee. A guy in the lobby pointed me to the basement. I found the bathroom and then, next to it, another door to a low-ceilinged unfinished place. I climbed around under hanging pipes to a spot I thought was below the doctor’s office. And I could hear the old doctor laughing! They sounded like two women having tea. When you’re trying all the time to glean information, sometimes it just falls onto you. That’s when it felt sweet.
“Eli’s pressuring me to hurry,” the Mims said.
Hurry and what? I wondered.
“Some mathematicians have spouses who follow them,” she went on. “Marge called Stanley a Trailing Spouse.”
“Cary not only didn’t follow you, he suggested you quit,” the doctor said. He did! That was news to me.
“He didn’t really want me to quit. He just didn’t like me to complain.”
“Or to ask him to help with his children.”
“He never wanted twins. You’ve got to give him credit. He knew his limits.”
My dad didn’t want the Boops! A smile crept onto my face as I felt the wind knocked
“What? You’re taking away TV for two months because of a grade?”
“We both know it’s not your best.”
“What if it is? No, really, Mom. What if it is my best?”
I called my dad to fight, but he interrupted. “I agree with your mother one hundred percent. One hundred percent, Miles.” Then he had to get off the phone. Dickwad.
With no electronics, I had time, so I hitched a ride home with Esmeralda the next Wednesday. She took me to Lucky supermarket, where her son, in his baseball uniform, showed me all his favorite stuff. Chips I’d never seen before—fried pigskins! No shit!They were good, but I didn’t know if I could move them. I bought Mexi-Crisps, prepopped caramel corn, and two different chips, all cheap, and a yellow soda I wanted to introduce. I bought one bag of the pig chips for Hector. Right before I left, I saw Cokes in bottles; they turned out to be Mexican Coke and cost more than regular, even here, but I bought five six-packs, for a luxury item. Esmeralda drove me to the bus stop. When I finally got back, I left the bags outside under the windows of my room to sneak in after dark.
The Mims wasn’t pleased when I walked in at nine twenty, but I’d told her I wanted to see Esmeralda’s home. She couldn’t say anything to that, even though we both knew she’d rather have had me copying algebra problems a hundred times and showing my idiotic work.
22 • A Basement Below a Doctor’s Office
When Boop One made the dance team, our schedule turned wack. Thursdays didn’t work anymore. Esmeralda could pick us up from school, after cleaning Charlie’s house, and drive Boop Two to speech therapy on her way east; I had to go along. Then the speech therapist took us to the dance studio, where we’d wait for Boop One’s carpool. But I couldn’t read in a place that smelled like feet. Finally, we figured out that Esmeralda could drop me off near UCLA; I could work in my mom’s office and then ride back with her. “But I see a doctor Thursday after work,” the Mims said.
“O-kay,” I said. “Just this Thursday?”
“Every Thursday.”
“What kind of doctor?”
She paused. “A therapist.”
“You see a ther apist? For what?”
She shrugged. “Just everything, I guess.”
Once, after I’d been torturing my sister and repeating gobble gobble, the Mims said if we couldn’t get along better we’d have to see a psychologist. I said back, “Dad doesn’t want us going to therapists,” just guessing, but I turned out to be right.
So I sat with my mom in the waiting room doing homework while she watched. A tall woman, my grandmother’s age, opened the door halfway.
“This is Dr. Sally Bach,” my mother said. “This is Miles.”
“Hello, Miles.” The woman’s smile seemed halfway to laughter.
My numbers on the page marched up in a slant and I needed to pee. A guy in the lobby pointed me to the basement. I found the bathroom and then, next to it, another door to a low-ceilinged unfinished place. I climbed around under hanging pipes to a spot I thought was below the doctor’s office. And I could hear the old doctor laughing! They sounded like two women having tea. When you’re trying all the time to glean information, sometimes it just falls onto you. That’s when it felt sweet.
“Eli’s pressuring me to hurry,” the Mims said.
Hurry and what? I wondered.
“Some mathematicians have spouses who follow them,” she went on. “Marge called Stanley a Trailing Spouse.”
“Cary not only didn’t follow you, he suggested you quit,” the doctor said. He did! That was news to me.
“He didn’t really want me to quit. He just didn’t like me to complain.”
“Or to ask him to help with his children.”
“He never wanted twins. You’ve got to give him credit. He knew his limits.”
My dad didn’t want the Boops! A smile crept onto my face as I felt the wind knocked
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