Page 11 of Paging Dr. Hart
“Oh. Too bad. That would be a cool name. Cats are my favorite animal. What’s your favorite? Do you want to play kittens?” The little girl speaks lightning fast. I have to concentrate to follow her words.
“Sure. How do we play?” I look around for some cat stuffed animals or toys.
“We pretend, silly!” Shelly gets down on her hands and knees and makes surprisingly realistic meowing sounds.
A grin stretches over my face. My mom plays with me all the time but not games like this. I’ve always wanted a cat, but Mama says the apartment manager won’t let us. I copy Shelly’s movements, and soon we’re roaming around the room, purring and pretending to lick our paws.
We spend hours playing together. Barbies, Hot Wheels, hide and seek. In the middle of the day, Brandi feeds us peanut butter and jelly sandwiches with bright orange Cheetos. It’s my first-time eating the crunchy chips. I watch with fascination as Shelly sucks the thick cheese powder off her fingers one by one. Imitating her, I lick my fingers clean.
Brandi gives us popsicles for dessert. She lets us each pick our favorite color. Shelly takes red, and I choose purple. Brandi shoos us outside with thefrozen treats, saying, “Don’t you dare spill and make my floors sticky. Get out, you two.”
I don’t mention that Brandi’s floors are already sticky. My mama taught me manners. My mama says, “If you can’t say something nice, then don’t say anything at all.”
Outside, we sit shoulder to shoulder on the stained concrete steps that lead up to my apartment. Sighing happily, I tip the melted grape popsicle into my mouth.
“Where’s your daddy?” asks Shelly out of the blue.
“I don’t have one.” Popsicle juice spills onto my hand, and I lick it off.
She laughs, an adult laugh. “Everyone has a daddy. Mine went away. Mommy says he’s no good.”
I’ve seen some dads around, but my mama has been with me so much that I never felt the need for one. I haven’t stopped to consider where mine might be.
The sound of heels on concrete makes us look up. Mom’s home. She looks tired but triumphant. I jump up, leaving the empty popsicle wrapper behind me on the ground, forgotten. I fly to Mama and hug her legs.
Suddenly I’m crying. I don’t know why. I’ve been having fun with Shelly, but seeing Mama releases a weight I didn’t know I was carrying. It crashes down around me. The thought of someday losing her reoccurs, and I sob jaggedly.
Brandi comes outside to see what the commotion is all about. “Goodness!” she exclaims when she sees my tear-streaked face. “I swear she was fine a minute ago,” she tells Mom and shoots me an irritated glare.
Mama scoops me up into her arms and rocks me like I’m a toddler. I’m too upset to care that I’m being treated like a younger child instead of the big five-year-old girl that I am. I wrap my legs around Mama’s waist and bury my face in her neck. She smells sweet, like wild roses.
Rubbing a comforting hand on my back, Mom tells Brandi, “I’m sure she’s just tired. It’s been a big day for her.”
My mom talks to Brandi for a few more minutes and then carries me upstairs. We snuggle together on the old worn-out plaid couch for the restof the night. I keep a close eye on her, following her into the bathroom and kitchen the few times she leaves the room.
Later, Mama tells me, “I got a job today, Kitten. I’m going to work in that big casino we drive past sometimes. You know, the fancy one with the marble columns in the front that looks like it’s from Italy. Ms. Brandi will watch you in the daytime when I’m gone. Then I’m going to watch Shelly here at our place when Brandi works at night. Won’t that be fun? You’ll finally have someone to play with.”
I don’t know what to think about this. I like Shelly but hate to be away from Mama. “Do you have to?” I ask in a plaintive voice.
She sighs. “Yes, honey, I do.”
As she tucks me into bed that night, I suddenly remember. “Mama, where’s my daddy?”
She steps back, a glimmer of alarm passing over her so quickly I almost miss it. She’s quiet for a moment, thinking. Finally, she says, “He died. It was a long time ago. I’m sorry, Kitten.”
That night I cry in the dark for a father I’ll never meet.
8
Past, Las Vegas, Nevada, Age 8
Shelly and I grow up together like sisters. Days at Shelly’s apartment and nights at mine. It’s odd because our moms aren’t good friends. They rarely spend time together when they’re both off work. It’s more like they’re co-parents, disgruntled ex’s who share the burden of child care, each slightly disapproving of the other’s child-rearing methods.
Sometimes Mom whispers, “Brandi, if that’s even her real name,” under her breath. My mom frowns as she washes Oreo and Cheetos dust off my fingers at night. A gummy multivitamin makes its way onto Shelly’s and my plates at dinner, along with our homemade fettucine Alfredo. Mama tries to school the wildness out of us, especially Shelly. She teaches us table manners and some fancy word I can’t pronounce…etiquette. She shows us how to “walk like a lady,” which involves prancing around the apartment with books balanced on our heads. I get up to three books before they topple to the floor.
For her part, Brandi is bothered by my mom’s lack of a man. She brings it up one day in late spring, when the weather is already scorching hot. We’re all at the apartment pool together. Mom slathers us both in sunscreen, ranting about how our fair skin needs extra protection and I will thank her for this later.
I squirm under my mother’s slick hands, eager to join Shelly, who’s already cannon balled into the pool. Once I get into the shallow end, Shelly and I take turns seeing how long we can hold our breath underwater. Shelly is 42 seconds, and I’m a proud 48 seconds. Shelly’s mad I beat her. She complains that I cheated and angrily splashes water in my face, which makes my eyes sting. Tears mix with water droplets that run down my cheeks.
