Bottled Up by Jaye Murray Read Free Book Online

up.”
    My mother walked in like she was ready to put out a fire. “What’s going on in here?”
    â€œPip’s being a jerk.” Mikey was still whining, and I was holding back from whacking him one.
    â€œGo downstairs and have your breakfast,” she told the baby.
    â€œI want a new brother,” he yelled, walking out.
    â€œYou can have one,” I yelled back. “Get some other chump to walk your nose-picking face to school every morning—”
    â€œDon’t treat your brother like that,” she said. “He looks up to you.”
    â€œTell him to stop.”
    She was pissed. “Someday he will,” she said, grabbing my elbow for a sec, then dropping it. “Someday he won’t look up to you, and you’ll miss it.”
    â€œHe’s a creepy pain in the butt, Mom. I’m tired of him tagging along all the time. Can’t Eddie Farrot’s mother drive him home after school?”
    â€œNo. You can do it.”
    â€œI’m not his father,” I said.
    â€œYou’re his brother.”
    â€œSo what? That means I’ve got to walk him to school, pick him up, and watch him every day?”
    â€œYes.”
    I was about to let loose on her that it’s really her job to take care of him, not mine. But she kept talking.
    â€œWhen I saw that policeman at our front door last night,” she said, “I thought he was going to tell me you were dead.”
    She was getting ready to cry. I could tell. I knew that look. It was the same one she gets when my father yells at her.
    â€œYour father wants to be the way he is, that’s his choice. You’re the way you are and I’m too late to save you.” She looked as if she was in pain—as if I had taken a knife and jammed it into her gut.
    â€œBut your brother,” she said. “He still has a chance. Things could be different for him.”
    She put her hand under my chin. “I can’t have all three of you out of control. I can’t live like this—the screaming, the throwing things, the middle of the night fights, and now the police bringing you home. I can’t take any more and I won’t allow your brother to get himself messed up too.”
    She dropped her hand from my chin and used it to wipe the tears off her face.
    â€œMikey’s coach called,” she said. “He’s been missing T-ball practice. Take him there after school today.”
    I didn’t answer.
    â€œYou hear me?”
    â€œI hear you,” I said.
    â€œDon’t make your brother late for school,” she said, and left me standing there staring at the door—watching the back of her head walk away again.
    I guess it was better than seeing that look on her face—those sad brown eyes that don’t look even a little like mine.
    I remember one day when I was eight years old. It was snowing. I wanted to go out and play. But I couldn’t ask my parents because they were busy yelling at each other.
    My father threw something at the wall, then I saw him grab my mother by the arm and push her out the front door. I ran to the window and saw her standing on the porch with her arms across her chest. She had no coat, no boots, just a pair of pink fuzzy slippers that were getting wet fast.
    The kids across the street were making snow angels on their lawn.
    I knew Bugs couldn’t keep quiet all the way to school. I figured halfway there he’d forget he was mad and hit me with a bunch of stupid questions. He held out ’til we got right in front of Ann Hutch Elementary.
    â€œWho’s stronger?” he asked. “Spider-Man, Batman, or Superman?”
    I told him what he wanted to hear. “Superman can kick anybody’s butt.”
    â€œWho’s stronger? You or Daddy?”
    â€œWhat do you think?”
    â€œYou?” He didn’t sound too sure.
    â€œI got kryptonite in my pocket,” I said, hitting the front of my jeans.