kicks aside a dented beer can and,
following Mom, climbs the steps. With one hand I grasp the iron
railing. It wobbles. A lot of good this
thing is going to do to keep anyone from falling. I make my way across the creaky balcony to the
apartment.
Night brings a whole
different character to our palace. What starts as a hide and seek
game with kids by the pool about three, turns into a weekend keg
party with booming music by eleven. The windows pulse to the beat
so hard that I'm sure they're going to pop out of their aluminum
frames.
When Mom yanks the front
window curtain closed it falls onto her head. She hurls the curtain
and years of dust explode around us.
Keith disappears down the
hall, leaving Mom and me about ten paces apart, dueling
range.
“Don't say a word, young
lady. Do you hear me?” She snatches the phone from her purse, flips
it open and stabs her finger on her keypad.
“This is Mrs. Edmund. 148.
Can’t you put a stop to that loud party?”
While she's talking I coax
Quicken out of her carrier and slip away to my bedroom, shutting
the door without turning on the lights. It's better not to show
that world outside where I'm hiding. Tomorrow I’ll borrow one of
Keith’s black sheets to hang at my window.
Later, the police arrive
and for a while red swirling lights chase each other around the
walls of my room. Bull horns shout to clear the pool area. One more
shattered glass bottle hits the sidewalk; then slowly the sound and
light show grinds down, leaving only the hum of the pool pump and
the yellow glow of bug lights at the side of each apartment
door.
The quiet doesn't last
long. Something crashes against my wall and a woman's angry voice
shouts words that would make the FCC duct tape her mouth. A man's
voice mumbles something I can't make out; then a door slams and the
pool pump is the only noise again. Like I used to when I was
little, I crack open my door to the hall. Somehow that makes my
room less scary and it reduces the faint smell of cigarette smoke
that’s seeping through my wall from next door.
I don't hear Quicken, but I
know she's at the back of my closet, crouched and staring. Getting
on my hands and knees I look inside. “Quicken, come here, fur
person.”
She hisses. When I reach
for her she slinks along the wall and disappears into a dark space
behind my desk.
I roll inside my comforter,
not bothering to make my bed. I want to vanish and not just for
tonight, forever.
Another sound begins. It's
one that's become a familiar part of the night. Mom tries to muffle
her crying as she passes my door, but she can't muffle the pain of
it. Tonight it hurts me to hear her more than it ever did in
Channing.
Chapter 15
“Quicken. Here kitty-
kitty-kitty.” Mom’s voice startles me from a dream that has left a
sour lemon taste in my mouth. I jump from bed, letting the
comforter fall to the floor, looking around the box cluttered room.
I’ve come from a dream into a nightmare. Surely I’ll wake up and
hear the ocean. Surly the traffic noises will fade once I get my
bearings.
My door is slightly ajar
and Mom sticks her head inside. “Honey, is Quicken in
here?”
I shake my head; my mouth
won’t open. My eyes are slits. If I look in the mirror I know I’ll
be facing Carlie Edmund, puffy-eyed Las Pulgas dweller. “Get
dressed. We’ll have to search for her. She must have run outside
when I went to the store this morning.” Mom closes my door,
calling, “Quicken. Here kitty-kitty- kitty.” After we search all
the crevices in the apartment and still can’t find Quicken, I set
out to scout the area. When I knock on the door to Apartment 147
the door pops open the width of a security-chained crack. A woman
squints at me through the slot.
“What?” I recognize the
voice, but she doesn’t scream at me like she does the person she
lives with.
“We’ve lost a Siamese cat.”
The woman slips the chain free and opens the door. “What, is it,
like, joined at the hip or
following Mom, climbs the steps. With one hand I grasp the iron
railing. It wobbles. A lot of good this
thing is going to do to keep anyone from falling. I make my way across the creaky balcony to the
apartment.
Night brings a whole
different character to our palace. What starts as a hide and seek
game with kids by the pool about three, turns into a weekend keg
party with booming music by eleven. The windows pulse to the beat
so hard that I'm sure they're going to pop out of their aluminum
frames.
When Mom yanks the front
window curtain closed it falls onto her head. She hurls the curtain
and years of dust explode around us.
Keith disappears down the
hall, leaving Mom and me about ten paces apart, dueling
range.
“Don't say a word, young
lady. Do you hear me?” She snatches the phone from her purse, flips
it open and stabs her finger on her keypad.
“This is Mrs. Edmund. 148.
Can’t you put a stop to that loud party?”
While she's talking I coax
Quicken out of her carrier and slip away to my bedroom, shutting
the door without turning on the lights. It's better not to show
that world outside where I'm hiding. Tomorrow I’ll borrow one of
Keith’s black sheets to hang at my window.
Later, the police arrive
and for a while red swirling lights chase each other around the
walls of my room. Bull horns shout to clear the pool area. One more
shattered glass bottle hits the sidewalk; then slowly the sound and
light show grinds down, leaving only the hum of the pool pump and
the yellow glow of bug lights at the side of each apartment
door.
The quiet doesn't last
long. Something crashes against my wall and a woman's angry voice
shouts words that would make the FCC duct tape her mouth. A man's
voice mumbles something I can't make out; then a door slams and the
pool pump is the only noise again. Like I used to when I was
little, I crack open my door to the hall. Somehow that makes my
room less scary and it reduces the faint smell of cigarette smoke
that’s seeping through my wall from next door.
I don't hear Quicken, but I
know she's at the back of my closet, crouched and staring. Getting
on my hands and knees I look inside. “Quicken, come here, fur
person.”
She hisses. When I reach
for her she slinks along the wall and disappears into a dark space
behind my desk.
I roll inside my comforter,
not bothering to make my bed. I want to vanish and not just for
tonight, forever.
Another sound begins. It's
one that's become a familiar part of the night. Mom tries to muffle
her crying as she passes my door, but she can't muffle the pain of
it. Tonight it hurts me to hear her more than it ever did in
Channing.
Chapter 15
“Quicken. Here kitty-
kitty-kitty.” Mom’s voice startles me from a dream that has left a
sour lemon taste in my mouth. I jump from bed, letting the
comforter fall to the floor, looking around the box cluttered room.
I’ve come from a dream into a nightmare. Surely I’ll wake up and
hear the ocean. Surly the traffic noises will fade once I get my
bearings.
My door is slightly ajar
and Mom sticks her head inside. “Honey, is Quicken in
here?”
I shake my head; my mouth
won’t open. My eyes are slits. If I look in the mirror I know I’ll
be facing Carlie Edmund, puffy-eyed Las Pulgas dweller. “Get
dressed. We’ll have to search for her. She must have run outside
when I went to the store this morning.” Mom closes my door,
calling, “Quicken. Here kitty-kitty- kitty.” After we search all
the crevices in the apartment and still can’t find Quicken, I set
out to scout the area. When I knock on the door to Apartment 147
the door pops open the width of a security-chained crack. A woman
squints at me through the slot.
“What?” I recognize the
voice, but she doesn’t scream at me like she does the person she
lives with.
“We’ve lost a Siamese cat.”
The woman slips the chain free and opens the door. “What, is it,
like, joined at the hip or
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