The Other Way Around by Sashi Kaufman Page B

he would call you himself.”
    The rage boils up in my gut again. “No, Mom,” I say between clenched teeth. “The both of you are really shitty. So thanks, thanks for being two shitty parents.” I hang up without another word. I walk back over to my seat and collapse into it. Emily has wandered off, but G is still sitting there, looking concerned.
    She doesn’t say anything for a while. She just sits there, which is okay. I don’t want to talk about it, but I don’t exactly want to be left alone. And somehow even the presence of someone I barely know is still comforting. After a few minutes my body temperature returns to normal and I can take a full breath without whistling through my teeth.
    â€œSo what are you going to do?” G asks a few minutes later.
    â€œI don’t know.” I don’t really want to go to Cleveland only to have to turn around and take the bus back again. But without Mima, there really isn’t anything for me in the Midwest. The thought of waiting here for Mom to come pick me makes the blood beat in my ears and my stomach churn. I don’t really see what other choice I have. I flip open my phone to call her back, and that’s when it hits me. Barry and Kris are still there.
    I know I can probably suck it up and forgive my mother for yet another botched episode of parenting. But having to share my grief over Mima with Kris and his troglodyte bed-wetting son—that just isn’t an option. I can just picture Kris actually wanting to talk about Mima and how I
feel
about the whole thing. I flip the phone closed again and stare at the digital time display, hoping for some answers.
    â€œYou should come with us,” G says.
    â€œWhere?”
    â€œRochester, or maybe Syracuse. Well, that’s for tonight anyway. We’ll be able to make some money there tomorrow and then we’ll head south.”
    â€œWhat’s south?”
    â€œBurdock,” G says. “It’s a big festival in New Mexico for people like us.”
    â€œStreet performers?”
    â€œSort of.”
    At this moment I have no intention of going anywhere with G or her strange friends. But the conversation is a good distraction. “So if the money’s so good in Syracuse, what are you guys doing hanging out in the Glens Falls bus station?” For the first time in our conversation G looks a little bit uncomfortable.
    â€œWe’re broke,” she says simply. But I can tell she hates saying it. Her face is flat, tough, like she’s waiting for someone else to throw the first punch. She sighs. “We had a pretty good thing going in Burlington for a while. But it’s a small town, and pretty soon the police were on us every time we tried to set up. You can get a license to perform there, but it wasn’t worth the money. Anyway, we stayed at a friend of Jesse’s place for about a week, camping in the backyard, but I guess they got kinda sick of us coming in and out to use the bathroom and all. So now we’re here. The gas light came on about fifteen miles north of here, and it seemed like this was the first decent-sized town for a while so we decided to stop. Obviously it’s pretty bad timing, being Thanksgiving and all. But don’t worry,” she adds. “We’ll figure something out in the morning. We always do.”
    I look down at the bus ticket in my hand. I don’t need it anymore. I don’t even really need the sixty-three dollars. Itfeels like what Mima would have wanted me to do. She liked people with a sense of adventure. “You should take this,” I say and hand the ticket to G. “They’ll give you a refund, and you guys can use it for gas.”
    â€œWe can’t take your money.”
    I look at her skeptically. “Yes you can. I mean isn’t that the point?”
    â€œWe
earn
our money,” she says indignantly. “Look, you should come with us and then it’s an