Pigs in Heaven
Page 119
Turtle looks away, out the window on her side. They are parked in front of the Kwik Mart, held hostage by the rain, hoping it might lighten up enough to let Taylor make a call from the pay phone.
Taylor grips the steering wheel hard, until the weakness in her forearms runs in slow warm-water currents up into her shoulders and neck. She blows out air. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’m not mad at you, I’m mad at the rain.”
Turtle mumbles something, rolling Mary idly in her lap.
“What?”
Still looking away, she pronounces: “You’re always mad at something.”
“Oh, Turtle.” Taylor has to bite her tongue to keep from snapping, “I am not!” If she weren’t so miserable, she would laugh at her terrible mothering skills. She stares out the window on her side, toward the washed-out vacant lot next door, empty tonight. Apparently the criminal element has the sense to stay home in this weather. They probably have nice homes, Taylor thinks, and VCRs. As drug dealers, they would have a decent income. Probably they’re home watching America’s Most Wanted, with their heat cranked up to seventy-five degrees.
“How was school today?”
“Okay, I guess.”
“That’s all?”
“Yeah.”
Taylor turns in the seat to face Turtle, tucking her feet under her. She taps Turtle on the shoulder politely. “Listen, you, I want to talk about it.”
Turtle slowly brings around her face, with its question mark eyebrows.
“What was the best thing that happened?”
Turtle thinks about it. “There wasn’t any best thing.”
“Okay, what was the worst thing?”
“Lisa Crocker made fun of my pants.”
“Your bicycle pants? What’s wrong with those? All the kids wear those, I’ve seen them.”
“She says I wear them every day.”
“Well, that’s not true. On the other days you wear your jeans.”
Turtle pushes her palms against her thighs. ‘The other kids have more than two pairs.”
“I know, Turtle. I used to get made fun of in school too.
Mama cleaned people’s houses, and they’d give her their kids’ outgrown stuff for me to wear. They thought they were doing us a favor, but I ended up going to school looking like a clown.”
Turtle slides her eyes sideways and suppresses a grin.
“With a big red nose?”
“I should have worn a big red nose. I copped an attitude instead.”
“What’s that?”
Taylor notices that the rain is changing from a major to a minor key, maybe letting up a little.
“Copping an attitude? Oh, it just means I acted real tough.
Like I wanted to look like that, and everybody else was ridiculous for wearing their little matching sweaters and skirts.”
Turtle thinks this over. “I don’t think I can cop an attitude,” she says.
“You shouldn’t have to! Kids your age should not even like the idea of clothing. You should still be trying to throw everything off and roll in the mud.”
Turtle looks attentively skeptical.
“I’m telling you, this Lisa Crocker character is a social de-viant.”
“She’s just like the other girls, Mom.”
“Good grief, they’re all going to grow up to be like Barbie!
Can you imagine what that means for the future of our planet?”
“I want them to be my friends.”
Taylor sighs and strokes Turtle’s hair. “I think it’s harder to be an underprivileged kid than it used to be.”
“One time I wore the school’s pants,” Turtle says. “Those gray sweater pants with letters on them. When I had that accident.”
“Well, that’s true. That wasn’t much fun, though, was it?”
“No.”
“I’m glad your stomach’s feeling better these days.”
Turtle is quiet.
“Aren’t you feeling better?”
“No,” Turtle says faintly.
“No?” Taylor feels a wave of panic.
“It hurts mostly.”
“Oh, Turtle. This doesn’t make any sense. You’ve never been sick before.”
“I’m sorry, Mom. I just get the stomach cramps. I can’t help it.”
“Oh, Turtle.”
“Mom, it stopped raining. Look.”
It’s true, the noisy assault is over, but the windshield is still blurred with a serious drizzle. “You poor kid, you’ve forgotten what good weather is. You think a sunny day is when you only need a raincoat instead of an umbrella.”
Taylor grips the steering wheel hard, until the weakness in her forearms runs in slow warm-water currents up into her shoulders and neck. She blows out air. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’m not mad at you, I’m mad at the rain.”
Turtle mumbles something, rolling Mary idly in her lap.
“What?”
Still looking away, she pronounces: “You’re always mad at something.”
“Oh, Turtle.” Taylor has to bite her tongue to keep from snapping, “I am not!” If she weren’t so miserable, she would laugh at her terrible mothering skills. She stares out the window on her side, toward the washed-out vacant lot next door, empty tonight. Apparently the criminal element has the sense to stay home in this weather. They probably have nice homes, Taylor thinks, and VCRs. As drug dealers, they would have a decent income. Probably they’re home watching America’s Most Wanted, with their heat cranked up to seventy-five degrees.
“How was school today?”
“Okay, I guess.”
“That’s all?”
“Yeah.”
Taylor turns in the seat to face Turtle, tucking her feet under her. She taps Turtle on the shoulder politely. “Listen, you, I want to talk about it.”
Turtle slowly brings around her face, with its question mark eyebrows.
“What was the best thing that happened?”
Turtle thinks about it. “There wasn’t any best thing.”
“Okay, what was the worst thing?”
“Lisa Crocker made fun of my pants.”
“Your bicycle pants? What’s wrong with those? All the kids wear those, I’ve seen them.”
“She says I wear them every day.”
“Well, that’s not true. On the other days you wear your jeans.”
Turtle pushes her palms against her thighs. ‘The other kids have more than two pairs.”
“I know, Turtle. I used to get made fun of in school too.
Mama cleaned people’s houses, and they’d give her their kids’ outgrown stuff for me to wear. They thought they were doing us a favor, but I ended up going to school looking like a clown.”
Turtle slides her eyes sideways and suppresses a grin.
“With a big red nose?”
“I should have worn a big red nose. I copped an attitude instead.”
“What’s that?”
Taylor notices that the rain is changing from a major to a minor key, maybe letting up a little.
“Copping an attitude? Oh, it just means I acted real tough.
Like I wanted to look like that, and everybody else was ridiculous for wearing their little matching sweaters and skirts.”
Turtle thinks this over. “I don’t think I can cop an attitude,” she says.
“You shouldn’t have to! Kids your age should not even like the idea of clothing. You should still be trying to throw everything off and roll in the mud.”
Turtle looks attentively skeptical.
“I’m telling you, this Lisa Crocker character is a social de-viant.”
“She’s just like the other girls, Mom.”
“Good grief, they’re all going to grow up to be like Barbie!
Can you imagine what that means for the future of our planet?”
“I want them to be my friends.”
Taylor sighs and strokes Turtle’s hair. “I think it’s harder to be an underprivileged kid than it used to be.”
“One time I wore the school’s pants,” Turtle says. “Those gray sweater pants with letters on them. When I had that accident.”
“Well, that’s true. That wasn’t much fun, though, was it?”
“No.”
“I’m glad your stomach’s feeling better these days.”
Turtle is quiet.
“Aren’t you feeling better?”
“No,” Turtle says faintly.
“No?” Taylor feels a wave of panic.
“It hurts mostly.”
“Oh, Turtle. This doesn’t make any sense. You’ve never been sick before.”
“I’m sorry, Mom. I just get the stomach cramps. I can’t help it.”
“Oh, Turtle.”
“Mom, it stopped raining. Look.”
It’s true, the noisy assault is over, but the windshield is still blurred with a serious drizzle. “You poor kid, you’ve forgotten what good weather is. You think a sunny day is when you only need a raincoat instead of an umbrella.”
