Part 2 (2/2)

At night he says: ”Don't take me back there.”

”All right,” she says. Later she says: ”I made a mistake. We have to go.”

The second day of school he will not look at anybody. When the teacher puts her hand on his shoulder to ask if he sees anything he might like to play with, he pushes her hand away and looks at her with rage. ”No one said you could touch me.” He hides his eyes. He grinds his eyes into his mother's shoulder blade.

She's proud that he can speak up for himself. But she is frightened. Now what will they do?

In the playground, he lets her push him on a swing. She lights a cigarette. The other mothers don't approve, although they try to smile. They tell her about their children, who had problems getting used to school.

”My oldest was like that. Till Christmas.”

No one is like us. No one is like he is.

One morning he says he's tired. She tells him he doesn't have to go to school. She keeps him home for three days. Both of them are happy.

But the next day it's worse in school. Only one of the mothers smiles at her. She says: ”You know, maybe Billy's finding the group too large. Maybe he could just come over to our house. Daniel's used to the group. If they made friends, maybe that would help Billy in the group.”

”Thank you,” joAnn says. ”But we're so busy.”

The social worker says: ”You're not working on this separation.”

Everything has been reported. The social worker takes it as a bad sign that loAnn refused the other mother's invitation. Which she knows about.

”If I were you,” she says, ”... or maybe some counseling. For both your sakes.”

JoAnn is terrified. She tells the other mother she would like to come. The other mother writes her name and address down on a piece of paper torn from a pad in the shape of an apple with a bite out of it. It says ”Debi- 35 Ranch Road.” And in parentheses, ”Dan's mom.” For this, she buys her son new clothes.

He never cries anymore. n.o.body can make him do anything he doesn't want to. His eyes are bright green stones. No one can make him do anything. This makes her feel she has done right.

The morning that they are going to the house they take a bath together. They laugh, they soap each other's backs. Lately she sees him looking at her s.e.x a second longer than he ought to, and his eyes get hard and angry when he sees she sees. She knows they will not bathe together much longer after this year. But this year. Yes.

Debi, the mother, has to look several places for an ashtray. JoAnn hasn't realized there are no ashtrays until she has already lit up. They are both embarra.s.sed. Debi says, ”Somehow most of the people I know quit.” She goes through her cabinets and then finds one from a hotel in Canada. ”We stole it on our honeymoon,” she says, and laughs.

Billy knows his mother doesn't want him to play with Danny. She knows he knows. But she can feel his bones grow lively on her lap; she feels his body straining toward the other children. Danny and his sisters, Gillian and Lisa. And the toys. The house is full of toys. Trucks, cars, blocks, toy dinosaurs are scattered all over the wooden floors. But the house is so big it still looks neat with all the toys all over. The house is too big, too light. The house frightens JoAnn. She holds Billy tighter on her lap. He doesn't move, although she knows he wants to. And she knows he must.

”Look at the truck,” she says. ”Should we go over and look at that truck?”

Debi jumps out of her chair, runs over to the children.

”Let's show Billy the truck. See Danny's truck, Billy?” She gets down on her knees. ”Look how the back goes down like this.”

JoAnn doesn't know whether or not to go down on her knees with Debi and the other children. She stands back. Billy looks up at her. His fingers itch to touch the truck. She sees it. She gives him a little push on the shoulders. ”Go play,” she says. She lights another cigarette and puts the match in the heart-shaped ashtray she has carried with her.

Billy isn't playing with the other children. He is playing alongside them. Danny and his sisters are pretending to make dinner out of clay. They don't talk to Billy; they don't invite him to play with them; they leave him alone, and he seems happy with the truck. She sees he has forgotten her. For him she is nowhere in the room.

Debi says, ”Let's go into the kitchen and relax. They're fine without us.”

JoAnn feels the house will spread out and the floor disappear. She will be standing alone in air. The house has no edges; the walls are not real walls. Who could be safe here?

In the kitchen in a row below the ceiling there are darker-painted leaves. She tells Debi she likes them.

”I did them myself. I'm kind of a crafts freak. Are you into crafts?” JoAnn says she always wanted to do ceramics.

”I do ceramics Thursday nights,” says Debi. She brings a cookie jar shaped like a bear to the table. ”I made this last month,” she says. ”And while you're at it, have one.” She offers JoAnn the open jar. ”I made them for the kids, but if you won't tell I won't.”

The cookies frighten JoAnn. The raisins, and the walnuts and the oatmeal that will not dissolve against her tongue.

”If you want, there's room in our ceramics cla.s.s on Thursdays. I think it's important to have your own interests, at least for me. Get away, do something that's not connected to the kids. Get away from them and let them get away from you.”

JoAnn begins to cough. She feels she cannot breathe. The walls of the big room are thinning. She is alone in freezing air. Her ribs press against her thin lungs. Debi says: ”You okay, JoAnn?”

”I smoke too much. This year, I'm really going to quit. I've said it before, but now, this year I'm really going to do it.”

They hear a child scream. They run into the living room. Danny is crying.

”He hit me with the truck.”

”Did you hit him with the truck?” JoAnn says. ”Tell Danny you're sorry.”

Billy looks at them all with his bright eyes. Except at her. He does not look at his mother. He knows she doesn't want him to apologize. He knows that she is glad he did it. He did it for her. She knows this.

”We've got to be going,” says JoAnn, picking Billy up. He presses the truck to him. ”Put the truck down,” she says.

He doesn't look at anyone.

”Don't go,” says Debi. ”Really, they were doing great. All kids get into things like that. They were doing great for a long time.”

”We've got to go,” JoAnn says, looking in the pocket of her plaid wool jacket for the keys. ”Billy, give Danny back his truck.”

”Danny, can Billy borrow the truck till school tomorrow?” Debi asks.

JoAnn pulls the truck from her son's grip.

”Thanks, but he doesn't need it,” she says, smiling, handing back the truck. ”It isn't his.”

The truck falls from her hand. It makes a hard sound on the wooden floor. Hearing the sound, Danny begins to cry again.

”Let's try it again,” says Debi. ”They were really doing great there for a while.”

JoAnn smiles, holding Billy more tightly. ”Sure thing,” she says.

At night, while he sleeps and she sits on the stool beside his bed to watch, she thinks of him in the room with the other children. Him forgetting. She thinks of him pus.h.i.+ng the truck back and forth on the floor beside the other children, thinks of the walls thinning out, and her thin lungs that cannot enclose the breath she needs to live.

Alone. Alone.

All I have ever wanted.

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