Freshwater Literary Journal 2021

Susan Winters Smith Fourth Grade I see me getting out of bed, still so tired. Did I even sleep? I find clothes for school. Which dress is the cleanest—or the least dirty? I guess the one with the daisies. Matching socks. Nope. Only time for cheerios. Milk is almost sour. I add sugar. My sister and brother left without me. Baby sister is crying. I bring her to Mother who is still sick from infection. I fed baby at two, but I can’t be late for school. I bring the warm bottle and two cups of coffee—three sugars for Daddy. None for Mother. She can tell if you put one grain in. Baby needs a clean diaper. I take three down from the line over the heater and bring to Mother. I run to grab some that are frozen on the line off the back porch and bring them in to thaw.

I put on my coat with the broken zipper, grab an apple and run to school.

The lunch today is spaghetti, but I don’t remember if we paid. Fourth grade.

Mrs. Robinson. She growls at me. “Late again.” She sniffs my clothes, frowns, and tells me to brush my hair. The class laughs. I have no brush. We stand for the pledge and I miss a word. Billy smirks at me.

Geography, the state Capitals. I miss Boise, Idaho, and Ann laughs. I take the list home with me again, but Daddy comes home mean like last night.

Mother tells him she can’t pay the bills. He is slamming his fist on the table, screaming she’s spending too much on these kids. She makes him coffee. He burns his tongue and throws the cup, swearing.

Sister and I pretend to sleep in our room off the kitchen. I’m on the top bunk. Daddy comes into the room and I keep my eyes shut tight and lie still but my eyelids twitch. I hear Daddy breathing over me. Does he see my eyes twitching? Mother tells him not to wake the kids. Daddy yells at her that he will wake up his damn kids any time he wants to. My arms shake under the blanket.

He laughs right near me, a big loud “Ha!” but he leaves the room.

They argue in the kitchen. Daddy yells about the cold supper and smashes his plate against the wall. Our landlord pounds up the stairs and bangs on our door. I hear him tell Mother he will throw us out if Daddy doesn’t stop. Mother gets Daddy to bed. I don’t hear much, but she is crying.

Friday morning comes. At recess, three boys surround me, yelling, “Your father’s an alcoholic, your father’s an alcoholic.” My best friend, Trena, tosses me the dodge ball. We toss it back and forth, but she misses, and it bounces into the alley between the buildings, which is a forbidden area. We can’t go in there.

Trena cries because she’s in terrible trouble if she doesn’t bring the ball in.

I think we better bring the ball back, so I go in the alley to get it.

We take the ball in and Mrs. Robinson calls me to her desk. She was looking out the window and saw me in the alley. She says we should have left the ball 7