The photographer said she needed everyone to stand next to the minivan. I tried to get out of it. Iām fourteen now, although I look younger, and I didnāt want my picture in the paper. I was wearing a T-shirt that was tight on me. My bangs were uneven because I cut them out of sheer boredom the other day. And I had a zit between my brows that looked like a third eye.
Gary gave me a stern look. Heās big on manners, cooperating; itās part of how heās kept this family together. So I stood at the far end, hoping that if I closed my eyes or looked to the side, they might end up cutting me out. They donāt need me. I donāt fit. One of these things is not like the others. The littles are enough. Theyāre still cute and they still care. This is the only life theyāve known. Iām old enough to remember staying in one placeāa house with a yard and the possibility of a dog. Never an actual dog, but the promise hung in the airāwhen youāre older, if you show responsibility. I was six when those promises were made. And, if you ask me, Iāve shown a lot of responsibility, but thereās just no way weāll ever have a dog.
You see, my real dad died when I was six and then my mom married Gary and they had Lenny, Wade, and Barrett. Boom, boom, boom. Barrettās a girl, by the way. She was supposed to be a boy and Mama had the name Rhett picked out. I guess Barrettās okay for a girlās name, especially given how pretty she is. Otherwise, itās not fun having a name thatās like a boyās name, let me tell you. Sheās only five, but people canāt stop looking at her. āMy little angel,ā Gary says, and I want to tell him to cut it out, but heās right. She looks like something youād see on a Christmas card, not that we get Christmas cards. Itās hard when you have to move every December.
Sure enough, when the photographer, a lady, rearranged us, Barrett was in the middle of the photograph, the boys on either side of her. The photographer had to remind Barrett three times not to smile. Barrett canāt help it. She just lights up. For cameras, for any flicker of attention.
The reporter, a man, asked Gary: āCan you tell me again what was in the minivan?ā
Gary looked at the littles. āWell, it was supposed to be a surprise.ā
āOh, butāā The reporter seemed really young, even to me. He was thin and kind of sullen, like he didnāt want to be here. Maybe he was one of those people who thought that bad luck was contagious. If it is, then I have to admit youād want to stay as far away as possible from my family.
āDaddy,ā Barrett said, āis Santa still coming?ā
No one knew what to say to that. Gary gave me a look and I said, āDad, is it okay if we go in and watch cartoons?ā
āThat would be great, Kathy.ā Gary smiled at me, grateful. This would give him a chance to tell the full story without the littles hearing every detail, which would include a full list of all the things they were never going to get. He got a disability check and decided to splurge on a big Christmas for us, despite being out of work. He would tell the reporter how he hit Best Buy and the mall, the one not too far from the motel where weāre staying, the one with an Apple Store and a Claireās and a Build-A-Bear. He paid to have everything gift-wrapped because how could he wrap āem in secret, the five of us living in just the one room? Well, two if you count the kitchenette, but itās in full view.
Anyway, Gary knew better than to leave the gifts in plain sight when he stopped at Target. Even here in the suburbs, you donāt take those kinds of chances. But he drives a minivanāwhat else would you drive with four kids?āand you canāt really hide stuff in the cargo section. We have a blanket to put over things, but maybe the paper peeked out or maybe if you put a blanket over the stuff in your trunk, people know itās worth stealing. Maybe having Texas plates is enough? People in the north really seem to hate Texas. Anyway, as Gary was probably telling the reporter, someone jimmied the lock and Christmas was gone, just that fast.
While we were watching television, the kids got hungryāall those damn commercials, how could they not get hungry, how could they not want things all the time? Some people call TV the āidiot box,ā Gary said, but he liked to call it the ācravinā box.ā He was very proud of that turn of phrase, although I didnāt quite get it. When Gary likes a phrase, he canāt let go of it. Anyway, I went outside to see if Gary had any change for the vending machines, although I knew he would not be happy to be interrupted.
I waited as patiently as I could while he and the reporter talked at the tables where the motelās smokers congregate. Gary used to smoke, but he gave up cigarettes when he realized how much money he was spending. āI did it for you,ā he said to me and the other kids, but mostly me. Iām really sensitive to smells and his breath was something horrible.
I stood over to the side, stamping my feet, exhaling as if I were having my own cig break. It wasnāt that cold, for December. Iāve known colder and Iāve known warmer. Last year this time, we were up in Cooperstown, but Gary decided that was too small. A year before that, it was Phoenix, but that was too big. Heās like Goldilocks, I guess. He said Baltimore looked to be just right. He said Baltimore would be our best place yet.
He says that every year, wherever we are.
Gary was saying: āI pick up odd jobs where I can. I was a long-haul trucker, but obviously I canāt do that anymore. Itās hardāIām a man, I have prideābut I need to live somewhere we can get benefits. We started the school year in Texas, but thereās just no help there. Someone told me Maryland was a nice place, so we decided to try it out. It was supposed to be a new start for the new year. Well, itās still a new start. Weāre starting from rock bottom, but that doesnāt mean we canāt climb to the top of the rock pile.ā
The reporter was writing everything down, his eyes on his pad. I coughed to get Garyās attention.
āIām sorry, Dad, but itās the kids,ā I said. āTheyāre hungry and I thought if I could just get some stuff from the vending machine to tide us over until dinnerāā
āDonāt you have a kitchenette here?ā the reporter asked. āHow do you feed these kids, anyway?ā
āWe do have a little kitchen,ā Gary said. āBut Iām not ashamed to say that we go to soup kitchens, food pantries, wherever we can get a little help.ā
He began digging through his pockets, but I knew he wasnāt going to come up with anything. The reporter just kept scribbling in his pad and my face burned at the thought of the words he was writing there. He searched his pockets but couldnāt even find enough spare change for a bag of chips.
The photographer lady handed me five one-dollar bills.
āYou shouldnāt do that,ā the reporter man said to her. āYouāre becoming part of the story. Thatās unethical.ā
She ignored him. āWhatās the thing youād most like to see under the tree on Christmas Day?ā
āBooks,ā I said. āI love to read. And maybe a locket.ā
Her kindness was hard. The kindness was always the hardest part. I gulped and took her money.
āWhere are your manners, Kathy?ā As I said, Gary was particular about manners.
āSorry, Dad.ā I mumbled āThank youā to the lady, scared I would burst into tears if I tried to say much more.
We went to the food court at the mall, had Chick-fil-A for dinner, looked at all the happy people with packages. Gary let us window-shop for fifteen minutes each. The boys picked the toy store, Barrett wanted to pretend she was going to buy diamonds, and I went to the bookstore, to the childrenās section, although Iām too big for kidsā books. Back in Texas, I had the whole series of Oz books and the Betsy-Tacy books and the Harry Potter books and some old books of my momās, about kids who kept finding magic thingsāa coin, a lake, a book, a well. Once upon a time, as they say. A long time ago, in a place far, far away.
āTomorrow will be better,ā Gary said. What else could he say? He had to believe that, he had to say that. We went to bed. All four of us kids slept in one bed when we stayed in motels and I didnāt mind, actually. They huddled against me like puppies. I...
