House Arrest

Dad was at the hospital with Mom and Levi.
José’s mom came to wake me up
but I was already awake.
And she drove me to the hospital
and she told me Levi was sick
and the doctors didn’t know what it was
and it was bad
real bad
and they wanted me there
in case he died
so I could say good-bye
and none of it made sense
because Levi was a brand-new baby
and nothing happens to brand-new babies
because they are new and haven’t hurt anyone yet.

That day.
Always in my head.
Won’t go away.
Always in the mirror.
Written on my face.
That day.
When the guy’s wallet was next to the credit card
swiper thing
at the checkout
and the manager and the guy looked out the window
at the car crash outside the grocery store.

I paid
one thousand
four hundred
forty-
five
dollars
and
thirty-
two
cents
on one shiny blue card.
Levi’s medicine for one month.
I made it one and a half days before they caught me.
One and a half days of feeling like I could breathe.
One and a half days of trying to figure out how to tell Mom.
Then the police came.

I made her cry, OK.
I made her cry
after I took the family photos off the mantel.
I made her cry
when I threw the pictures out the door and in the yard.
I made her cry
when I yelled, He left us and he’s never coming back
EVER!
I said I was sorry after she stopped crying.
I picked the pictures up out of the yard.
I put them in the trunk of the car
with the rest of his stuff I’m hiding in there.
José came by on his bike,
asked me why I was talking to the car.
So I admitted it to him.
I made my mom cry.
It was me this time.
Not a bill.
Not Levi.
Not just from being so, so tired.
I admit it to you, too.

I sat next to Marisol
and tried to turn my fingers into vines.
more more more
milk milk milk
more milk more milk more milk
Good, said Marisol.
Good job, Timothy.
She handed me Levi’s bottle.
Her long fingers touched mine
for just a second
and the weirdest thing happened.
I wanted to hug her
really tight
and feel her hands wrap around me
like vines never letting go.
And I wanted to sign
more more more
so she’d never stop hugging me back.
Please don’t ever tell her.

James has on his Serious Face.
His Probation Officer University face.
Mr. and Mrs. Jiminez have been interviewed
and approved.
The judge respects the situation.
Mom talks to him like a robot.
Yes, no, yes, I understand.
Her eyes are stuck to Levi.
Like he’s her sun instead of just her son,
like she’s a glob of plasma
reaching and stretching to him.
She gets her energy from knowing he’s right there.
She can’t not touch him.
You worry about Levi.
We have Timothy under control.
We have Timothy under control.
Like I am a disease.

I didn’t want to say this
but I can’t get it out of my mind,
like that red dust in space
that makes big clouds around a supernova
and doesn’t move for eons,
that’s what this is doing in my brain,
sitting heavy and messy,
getting all over everything else
so that it doesn’t matter what I think.

Hail Mary pass intercepted
on the twenty-yard line,
run back for a touchdown.
Mom: 7
Timothy: 0
She already knew about Cincinnati!
She knew about it before I did.
I guess I should have known.
I mean, Mom’s no dummy.
There’s just no money to do it.
The travel costs alone…
she said.
Then to herself,
super quiet,
The travel costs alone.
And her eyes drifted over to the wall,
the picture of the whole family
in the hospital
on the night Levi was born
and did not die.
We are not playing a fair game, you know?
When even Hail Mary passes get you nowhere.
Not a fair game at all.

And that’s when I saw Mom in the doorway,
her hand on her mouth,
tears on her cheeks.
Oh, Levi, she said.
She looked at Mary, still on the floor, cleaning.
She looked at me.
Oh, Timothy.
MA MA MA MA MA MA, Levi answered.
Mom was crying, but also laughing.
I think maybe I was, too.
The first time we’ve ever heard his voice.
The very first time.
But you know the best sound I heard?
Maybe the best sound I’ve heard in months and months?
Mom’s voice, still choked up, still loving on Levi
who was still in my arms,
the three of us standing together,
a triangle,
a family.

Things keep happening.
So many things
to us.
But none of the things are
things we can control,
not really…
Don’t you think it’s time for
things to change?
Time for us to try and
control some of the things?
Time to let people help?
Let me ask about the Carnival.
Maybe they won’t even want to do it.
We won’t know
until we ask.
That’s what I said
to Mom.
For real.
With my actual mouth.
It can’t be a big deal.
That’s all she said.
With her actual mouth.
Her eyes, though,
her eyes said:
People will think things about us.
My mouth said:
It won’t be a big deal.
My eyes said:
People already think things about us.
People already want to help us with things.
All we have to do is let them.
Let them help us.
Let them help us change things.

If I stare at the wall,
this particular wall,
with the spot
that’s whiter than the rest,
the hole that Mom filled with newspaper
and covered with goopy white stuff
and smoothed out with the edge of a ruler.
This spot,
if I stare at it,
reminds me of me
a little bit.
Not quite all put together
but sort of.
I mean, at least put together enough
to rub your hand over it
and call it smooth
like Isa is doing right now
to the back of my neck
while she pretends to not
read over my shoulder
and I pretend not to notice
that she’s reading over my shoulder.

Things were going so well.
That’s when you know to watch out.
That’s when you know Timothy
is going to do something
stupid
stupid
stupid.
But in my defense
you can’t just call people retards.
That’s offensive to everyone
with a brain
and a heart.
And if you’re going to be the kind of person
who is offensive to everyone
with a brain
and a heart,
maybe your mouth deserves
a Carnival of Giving
from my fist.

I know I’m lucky.
I know it.
I didn’t get regular suspended,
I only got in-school suspended.
I wish I had gotten a medal, though.
I wish I had gotten a parade.
I wish it was OK
to punch a kid
for being an idiot
but I guess vigilante justice
is not a real thing
in middle school
or anywhere
really.

And Levi.
Out in public for the first time
in a long time.
His face was so funny
watching all those things,
trying to figure out the world
outside of his four walls.
I guess that’s what made me take the microphone,
what made me make that speech
(without any notes!)
what made me say those things
about my own four walls
my walls made of James and Mrs. B. and Mom
and now José’s house, sometimes, too.
[…]
I guess that’s why I said those things,
watching his walls open up like that,
and how it all made me think of my own walls
and how they made me open up
instead of the other way around.

fifteen
thousand
two
hundred
forty
eight
dollars
and
seventy
two
cents
holy
crap
holy
crap
holy
crap
Mom is holding the check.
The PTA lady is at the door.
Look at this! Look at what you’ve done, Timothy!
Mom says it with a huge smile
with tears in her eyes
and she means it in a good way this time.
Look at what I’ve done.
Look at what I’ve done!!!

Five counts of leaving the scene of an accident.
Five counts of vehicular negligence.
One count of driving without a license.
One count of driving underage.
One count of grand theft auto.
One probation: violated.
I’m reading the charges
while I wait for the judge.
These khaki scrubs scratching me,
these white slippers not fitting right.
They left one thing off this sheet:
one count of saving Levi’s life.
Which counts for everything
don’t you think?