Mom’s unemployment ran out and her boyfriend found her a job at a local factory installing the flashing lights on emergency vehicles. On her first shift she nicked a portable one and placed it on our coffee table. For the first day of fifth grade, I asked Mom for penny loafers and a pink dress with the price tags still attached. Instead, she tossed me another cousin’s hand-me-downs, a Minnie Mouse dress and a pair of gray Converse sneakers with mismatched shoestrings. Then, she turned on the flashing light and sang Elton John’s “Don’t Go Breaking My Heart.”
Mom invited her boyfriend over for Christmas and served Hamburger Helper, minus the expensive ground beef, on her new set of china with a dandelion pattern she’d ordered from Spiegel’s. Following dinner, Mom popped two yellows, lit a Camel, and said, “Wash the dishes and be careful with my new china.” After I replaced the pills in her bottle with yellow Anacin, I wacked the edge of one plate against the faucet to chip it then hid it in the cabinet under the others. I said to myself, She’ll never notice.
Mom got fired from her factory job and took off on a trip with her current truckdriver boyfriend, leaving me to stay with Nancy, our downstairs neighbor. Nancy worked at the library, and I spent hours reading books by Maya Angelou and Jane Austen. Nancy had three cats, and I’d feed them and take care of their litter box. One Sunday, Nancy took me to the public pool and taught me how to swim. I only had cutoffs and a t-shirt to wear, not a bathing suit, but Nancy said not to worry, we’re just practicing.
Mom sent a postcard from Las Vegas with a picture of three tall women, all dressed in red with blue feathers stuck in their hair. She wrote she always wanted to see the bright lights and win a million dollars, and that she and her boyfriend might get married. Weeks later, she called from the Greyhound station, and said “Tell Nancy I’m coming over.” She and I are living with Nancy until Mom can find another boyfriend or a job.
