PART 8
School was out for the month because our district had an unusual break between terms.
That made everything easier for Mom.
And harder for me.
No teachers noticed.
No cafeteria lunches.
No adults asking why I looked tired.
My closest friend, Mason, texted me.
Want to play basketball?
I said no.
He asked why.
I said I was sick.
The truth was that I did not want to leave the house for long.
Mom had told me to be responsible.
Responsible meant watching the house.
Checking the locks.
Making sure nothing happened.
At least that was how I understood it.
So I stayed inside.
Mostly.
PART 9
At night, the house changed.
Every sound became bigger.
The refrigerator clicked.
Pipes moved.
Branches scraped the windows.
One night, someone knocked around nine.
Three knocks.
I froze on the couch.
The television was on.
I muted it.
Another knock.
I crawled toward the hallway.
I did not answer.
A shadow moved past the front window.
Then disappeared.
I waited almost twenty minutes before I breathed normally again.
I called Mom.
Straight to voicemail.
I called again.
Nothing.
Then I texted.
Someone knocked.
No answer.
Ten minutes.
Twenty.
Forty.
Finally she replied.
Probably delivery.
Go to sleep.
That was all.
PART 10
I wanted to ask.
What if they come back?
What if someone knows I am alone?
What if I need you?
Instead, I typed.
Okay.
Then slept with a chair pushed under my bedroom doorknob.
I had seen someone do that in a movie.
I do not know if it would have worked.
It made me feel better.
PART 11
By day eight, the bread was nearly gone.
I ate smaller portions.
One slice instead of two.
Half a bowl of cereal without milk.
Soup split between lunch and dinner.
Rice became important.
I learned I could make a bowl of rice feel different by adding cheese.
Then mustard once.
That was terrible.
I ate it anyway.
I started counting bananas.
Then crackers.
Then soup cans.
Food became numbers.
Not taste.
I still had seven dollars and change.
I refused to spend it.
Emergencies only.
The envelope said so.
PART 12
Mom called on day ten.
For three minutes.
She sounded happy.
“See?”
“What?”
“You’re fine.”
I looked at the sink.
Dirty dishes.
The nearly empty pantry.
The chair under my bedroom door.
“Yes.”
She said.
“I knew you could handle it.”
I felt proud.
That sounds strange now.
But I did.
I had made her happy.
I was proving her right.
Then she said.
“This is good for you.”
“Independence matters.”
I nodded.
Even though she could not see me.
“Okay.”
She asked.
“You’re not bothering the neighbors, right?”
“No.”
“Good.”
Then someone called her name in the background.
She laughed.
“I have to go.”
Again.
Always.
I have to go.
PART 13
On day twelve, the power went out.
Only for six hours.
But I did not know that.
It happened around four in the afternoon.
Everything shut off.
Television.
Lights.
Refrigerator hum.
The house became silent in a different way.
I checked the window.
The neighbor’s house was dark too.
That helped.
I found a flashlight.
The batteries were weak.
I found candles.
Then remembered Mom once said never light candles alone.
So I did not.
I sat by the window until sunset.
Then darkness filled every room.
I called Mom.
No answer.
Again.
No answer.
I texted.
Power is out.
She replied an hour later.
Probably storm.
It was not storming.
Then.
Don’t open fridge.
I already knew that.
I wanted to type.
I’m scared.
I did not.
Because scared was the same as helpless.
And I had been told I was not helpless.
PART 14
At nine, the power returned.
I almost cried from relief.
I turned every light on.
Then immediately turned most of them off because I worried about the electric bill.
I do not know why.
I was eleven.
That night, I slept on the couch.
Closer to the front door.
I thought if someone tried to break in, I would hear them sooner.
That was my logic.
PART 15
On day fifteen, I spent two dollars.
Toilet paper.
The house had run out.
I walked to a drugstore.
Bought the cheapest pack.
Then counted my cash again.
$5.41.
I wrote it on the envelope.
DAY 15.
I stared at the number.
Halfway.
Five dollars.
I needed to survive fifteen more days.
That was the first time I really understood the math.
I sat at the kitchen table.
Then cried.
Quietly.
There was nobody to hear.
PART 16
I called Mom that night.
She answered.
“What now?”
Her tone immediately made me regret calling.
I said.
“Nothing.”
“Then why are you calling?”
I stared at the envelope.
“I just wanted to know when you’re coming home.”
“I told you.”
“Thirty days.”
“Yes.”
“Exactly thirty?”
She sighed.
“Ethan.”
“What?”
“You are ruining this trip.”
My stomach dropped.
“I’m sorry.”
“There.”
“You always do that.”
“Do what?”
“Act like something terrible is happening.”
“Nothing is happening.”
“You have a house.”
“Food.”
“Money.”
“A phone.”
“You’re fine.”
I looked at the almost empty pantry.
Then said.
“Okay.”
She continued.
“I cannot keep answering every time you feel lonely.”
That word hurt.
Lonely.
As if loneliness was childish.
As if being lonely at eleven in an empty house was something shameful.
I whispered.
“Sorry.”
Again.
Always sorry.
PART 17
After that call, I stopped calling.
Completely.
For twelve days.
Mom did not notice.
At least not enough to call me first.
She sent occasional texts.
Everything okay?
I replied.
Yes.
One time.
Fine.
Another.
Good.
Three lies.
Short.
Efficient.
