Thursday, August 6, 2015

TIMOTHY, WHO HELPED KILL ESTER, TALKS SOME MORE... 8/7/15

Nobody goes to Ca-Ca's house. They never did. It smells from the cats. He mother likes cats. I don't know how many they have... three... four? They lock the door and that's it. Neighbors might say 'hi' when they see them on the block. Ca-Ca's father shovels his snow. The mother gives out good candy on Halloween... decent size Hershey bars... store size, not little snack-bar size. But nobody drinks coffee with her. The dads and stepdads and boyfriends don't talk much, except when somebody's got the hood open on their car. Then they all gather 'round like they know... like male chimps holding a war council. I know 'cause I like nature shows and watch 'em on TV. We don't have cable, but Channel 12 shows 'em.

I wish I knew what's going on over there now. Ca-Ca didn't go to school today. I didn't want to go. I prayed that it would stay night forever. When I woke up at a quarter til two and saw the little red numbers on my clock, I thought I still have maybe five and a half hours. When I woke up again at five o'clock, it was still dark and I felt a little bit safe. Not that I was asleep the whole time between 'wake-up.' But I'd pull the covers around my head like a hood. I'd pull them down low... just enough space for me to peek out into the dark and breathe. Once I had to go pee. I went in my money jar. I slid the coins out real quiet into a sneaker. Not the ones I wear to school, but one from an old pair of bo-bo's.

And I didn't think about Ester. I thought about me. They had grief people at school. Two of them got up and talked in the auditorium. We went in in groups... K to 2... 3 to 5 and 6 to 8. The older kids said by the time they went in, the ladies' voices sounded real scratchy and Mister Grossman had to run up and bring 'em bottled water. I'm a fifth grader. Ca-Ca is too. Nobody talked. But nobody listened. I just looked at my knees and walked around like a zombie or a robot all day. A grief lady came into our room too. She said bad things happen, but they hardly ever happen. And it's OK to be sad. Ester was our friend. Some girls giggled when she said that. Miss Domsky just looked and they shut up. On the way to art class after lunch, one of the big kids said the grief ladies were lookin' for kids who were acting weird, or crazy, so they could tell the cops about them. Miss Domsky gave out drawing paper so we could make name signs before the lady came in. She said it was so the lady could call us by name. But I think it's so the cops will know who to lock up and kill. I still wish I could die, but I don't want them to do it. And I don't want God to do it. I want it to just happen.

Ca-Ca's brother is dead too. Did you know that? Maybe somebody said something? Maybe I did? I don't know. Him and Ester are the only two dead kids I know. Heard about a couple others, but don't really know them.

It's five thirty. I'm home from school. Been home since twenty minutes after three. I walked real fast. Forgot my inhaler in my desk. Maybe that will kill me? I'm also back in bed. Heard my mom whisper to my sister to leave me alone. We don't eat til six thirty, 'cause my dad don't get home til six and he likes to relax and drink beer first. One more hour. I got one more hour. Wish I had a real bad asthma attack and died.

My name is Timothy, in case you forgot from yesterday. My nickname is Shithead.

Now just let me lay here and be quiet....

< tomorrow Ca-Ca says stuff >

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