Anything You Want Page 12

  “Oh,” I said. “I don’t appreciate violence.” I looked past her at the door, behind which my bro lay bent and broken.

  Emily shook her head. “Me either. Violence sucks.” Emily didn’t say anything for few seconds. “You look frozen. Do you want some hot chocolate?”

  I was trying to figure out how to make a dash for it, get past that wrestler to Darius, but hot chocolate sounded pretty good. “Maybe,” I said. “Is Darius okay?”

  “He was really, really drunk, but he wasn’t hurt in the crash,” Emily said.

  “He has O+ and A- blood, which makes him seem drunker than he is,” I explained.

  Emily blinked at me a couple times. “There’s no such thing as O+ and A- blood.”

  “No, there is,” I said.

  “No. Really. There’s no such thing. Somebody’s giving you a line. His blood alcohol level was .36, which is so far above the legal limit, it’s, like, legally dead. Darius was drunk. Straight-up drunk. Way crazy drunk. He has big problems.”

  I smiled because Emily was being serious and straight, and those kinds of people remind me of my mom. “You’re pretty smart. I like that a lot.”

  Emily smiled at me, big and pretty, like a goddess, which only happens when really serious people smile because it’s such an awesome surprise. “Thanks, Taco,” she said.

  “I’ll take that hot chocolate if the offer’s still good.”

  Ten minutes later I was warm and dead asleep on a little love seat in the waiting room. Emily must’ve put a blanket on me, which made me cozy. I slept for an hour or so. Then all hell broke loose.

  A ringing phone woke me up. Emily spoke. She said, “Yes. Oh no. Okay. We’ll be ready.” Emily stood.

  I sat up. “What?”

  “Sorority girl,” Emily said. She turned and went through the door into the actual emergency room. Like twenty seconds later, an ambulance came screaming up to the doors. The paramedics pulled a girl on a gurney out of the back. She screamed. I could hear her screaming through the doors. Emily burst back into the room, followed by a nurse and a doctor. They tore past me and met the paramedics, who rolled the screaming girl inside.

  “She’s on something. Can’t calm her down. Fell through the picture window at her house,” a paramedic said.

  The girl bled through gauze on her face and hands. She screamed, “My heart! My heart! Help me!”

  The doctor said, “Shh, honey. We’re going to take care of you. Nurse, prick her.”

  The girl screamed more. And she wriggled a ton.

  “She wasn’t freaking out in the ambulance like this,” a paramedic said. “Relax, Dana.”

  “Got to quiet down, sweetie, or we can’t help you,” the nurse said.

  That girl didn’t quiet down a bit. She wriggled so hard. She was clearly trying to jump off the gurney, and the wrestler-orderly had to hold her down. The girl screamed more. I walked closer. The girl cried. I walked closer. Then the girl focused on me because I was standing very close at that point, my mouth hanging open. Her mouth dropped open too, and she started saying, “You’re here! You’re here! Thank you for being here!” She smiled and cried at the same time.

  The nurse said, “Can you relax, Dana? He’s here, right?”

  “You’re doing great,” I said. “You’re okay.”

  She said, “I’m so glad you’re here.”

  “You know it. I wouldn’t be anyplace else,” I said.

  The girl totally stopped the wriggle, dingus. She relaxed. The nurse jacked her with a needle. The girl smiled at me and whispered, “Thank you.” Then she went to sleep.

  “What the hell was that?” the doctor asked.

  The nurse shrugged.

  One paramedic said, “Can you get Dana a bed so we can go?”

  “Yep, yep,” said the doctor.

  They all rolled the girl in back. A few minutes later, the paramedics came back with their stretcher.

  “Nice work, pal,” one said to me.

  “Who are you?” the other asked.

  “Taco,” I said.

  “Sounds about right,” the first one said. Then they left.

  I sat down and stared at my reflection in the window. “I’m here,” I said. It was beginning to get light. Morning.

  Emily came back out a few minutes later. “Magical Taco.”

  “Is it eight yet?” I asked. “Time to see Darius?”

  “No. But you can come in back if you want. Everybody’s pretty impressed with you.”

  Emily motioned for me to follow her. I scurried after. She pointed me to a room. “He’s in there. Probably not feeling too good. Take it easy on him.”

  I nodded and went in.

  Darius was hooked up to an IV. That scared me because Mom always got hooked up to that shiz. Darius, who was awake, looked at me and shook his head.

  “What’s in there?” I asked, pointing at the IV bag.

  “Go away,” Darius mumbled.

  “Are you dying? Are they not telling me the truth?”

  “They’re rehydrating me. That’s all. Go away,” Darius said.

  “Why are you dehydrated? Did you sweat because you were running from the cops?”

  “I would’ve run, but I was passed out. Leave me alone, Taco.”

  “No,” I said. “I’m here because I care.”

  “Well, I don’t,” Darius said.

  “That’s not the point. I’m scared, and I love you.”

  “Aw shit,” Darius said. Then he started crying. “Would you please go away?”

  “No. What happened?” I asked.

  “I’m stuck,” Darius said. “I’m lost in here.” He pointed at his heart.

  “Oh,” I said. “Yeah, I know what you mean. I think that can happen.”

  “I don’t like it,” he whispered.

  “We’re going to be okay,” I said.

  I sat there in his room, and Darius fell back asleep. I guess I fell asleep too. I think I dreamed about that Tibet baby again, and I was definitely startled when there was a knock on the door.

  “What?” Darius sat up fast. “Ow! Ow! My head is breaking.” He put his hands to his head, which pulled out his IV. Blood started running from his arm. “Aw shit!”

  I jumped up, grabbed cotton balls that were sitting in a dish on a rolling table next to him, and applied pressure to the blood spout.

  Mr. Frederick poked his head in the door. “Do you need me to get a nurse?” he asked.

  “Hi, there!” I said. “Nurse would be great!”

  Turns out Mr. Frederick wasn’t there to be a pal. He had come on official duty. After the nurse cleaned up Darius, Mr. Frederick told him to get dressed. Darius did what he was told. Then Mr. Frederick cuffed him and took him downtown to the police station for processing. (It doesn’t have anything to do with food processing by the way. I know because I asked when I was arrested.)

  I couldn’t go with Darius. Mr. Frederick said that they’d give me a call when I could pick him up and that it might be a good idea to get a hold of my dad. Fantastic.

  You know who’s nice? Emily Cook. She finished her shift a little before Darius got hauled down to the cop shop, but she waited for me. “I figured you might need a ride home. It’s very cold out there.”

  “Thank you,” I said. “You’re incredibly nice.”

  She smiled that crazy big smile. Then she drove me home.

  Chapter 20

  Maggie called early in the morning.

  “Holy crap, Taco. Carrie Cramer just texted me. She heard about Darius on Snapchat. Everybody’s posting crazy pictures. He crashed into Taco Bell? Is he okay? People think he hit Taco Bell because he was mad at you. Is he at home? Are you safe?”

  “He didn’t just hit the Taco Bell,” I told her. “Also KFC.”

  “I don’t think y
ou should be splitting hairs. I’m scared. I love you!”

  “Shh. Don’t say that. What if your parents hear?” I said.

  “Everybody is out getting a Christmas tree at Piggly Wiggly.”

  “Listen, I don’t think Darius was trying to kill me. I think he fell asleep because his blood is bad…or because he was so super drunk. Emily Cook said his blood problem is fake.”

  “Emily Cook?” Maggie asked.

  “She was at the hospital. She’s super nice,” I said. “She drove me home.”

  “Emily Cook?” Maggie asked again.

  “Yeah. Emily Cook.”

  “I’m going to try to come see you today,” Maggie said. “I need to see that you’re okay.”

  “See me? Okay,” I said.

  But Maggie had already hung up.

  Since I was awake, I called Dad. My heart pounded. The call went to voice mail. I left a message. “You maybe heard. Darius got in some trouble overnight.”

  I sort of expected Dad to call right back, but he didn’t.

  Then I lay down in my bed and tried to read an essay for English. It was something about the proper way to choose a persuasive paper topic, but I think I read three words before my head crashed back into my pillow. I must’ve slept for hours because it was midafternoon by the time my eyes opened again. I probably would’ve slept until dark, but a noise woke me up. There was someone in the house. The floors creaked with footsteps. The cupboards in the kitchen opened and shut. Water ran in the sink.

  “Maggie?” I asked.

  “No, dumb ass.”

  “Darius?” I called. “The cops were supposed to call me. They set you free?”

  “Yeah. But not for long!” Darius shouted. I heard him shuffle down the hallway to the suite. He pushed open my door and stared at me. He was so pale, pal. He had dark circles under his eyes. He seemed like he’d dropped about twenty pounds because his shirt looked too big and his pants were all dirty and baggy. “I’m going to jail. Prison. Like for real. Probably for all of January.”

  Oh man, I don’t like anyone to feel bad, right? Much less my bro. It wasn’t easy, but I tried to be positive. “Hey. No problem! You’ll get your shiz straightened out there. Have a little time to think and reflect. I could probably use a little jail time myself. Really couldn’t come at a better time in your life, you know? Figure out a path forward. Get your insides unstuck! This is perfect!”

  “No, dude. Nothing about this is perfect,” Darius said.

  “Aw, come on. Everything’s looking up.”

  “I’ve got fines. Big ones. I don’t have car insurance either, so what about all that damage I did at Taco Bell?”

  “Not just Taco Bell. KFC too,” I reminded him.

  “Yeah, Taco. I know, okay?”

  I squinted at Darius. Something didn’t compute. “Wait. You don’t have car insurance? Doesn’t Dad pay for that?”

  “Yeah, but…” Darius looked down at the floor.

  “Yeah, but?” I prompted.

  Darius started talking fast. “Yeah, but I don’t really have a driver’s license because I didn’t do the shit I needed to do to get it back after my last DUI, and I didn’t think I really needed insurance since I didn’t really have a license.”

  “But you drive. You’ve been driving for like six months.”

  “Yeah, because I can’t take riding my shitty bike like a little kid. So I told everyone I got my license back.”

  “Where did the car insurance money go?” I asked.

  Darius looked at the ceiling. He exhaled hard. “Your food, your clothes, your stupid shampoo and toothpaste. Dad doesn’t give us enough! You needed that money to live, okay?”

  I started to get really sweaty. My head started spinning from the inside out, like I was swirling down a drain, except I was just sitting there in my bed. “Darius?” I whispered. “What does this mean?”

  “It means I’m in deep shit…like a canyon filled with shit, Taco.”

  “How deep? Like a thousand dollars deep?” I asked.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “Probably deeper. A lot deeper.”

  Then he turned and disappeared into his basement.

  Maggie did come over later. Mary stayed parked out front. Maggie hugged me and told me she loved me, and she called Darius an idiot before she left. Instead of making me feel better, she just reminded me how everything in the whole world was spinning out of control.

  Best day ever?

  Best day ever.

  You have to keep trying.

  Chapter 21

  Twelve days later after a lot of trouble, which included Darius getting really drunk again and falling down in the yard and puking on the stairs (which I cleaned up) and him missing work due to a massive hangover, Darius got fired from Captain Stabby’s.

  During that same time, Maggie Corrigan began to show a little more in the baby-belly department. If you didn’t know the what-what, you might not be able to tell, but I could. Maggie definitely could tell. Throughout the school day, she’d just burst into tears at the drop of a hat. (Really, if someone dropped their hat on the floor, she would get so sad that she’d cry.) Maggie wouldn’t let me hug her or anything. Not even when we were alone in the hallway. When I asked her if she still thought we were in love, she said, “Yes, we’re in love. I just hate you right now, but not forever.” So I had to guess our plan was still in place.

  Here’s some more bad news: I had to go to musical practice three times during those couple of weeks, and that meant my nights at Nussbaum’s went very late. The musical practices themselves were great though. The other munchkins and I sang our nuts off, and we got our first taste of walking around on our knees to look super tiny, which was hilarious.

  The really good news was that I loved being at Nussbaum’s. Chatting up the clients? Making coffee and running down to Pancho’s for sandwiches? Boom. Good times. I even figured out how Mallory intended to organize the majesty of the law folders and papers, although it was pretty clear that she hadn’t been filing squatch since long before she got the babe in her maker.

  Dingus, I found unfiled case documents going back like eighteen months. Eighteen months! No lady carries her baby goods for that amount of time. The doctors would come after her with a knife because the baby would have been the size of a full-grown pit bull. Mallory seemed like maybe she was just a sucky worker.

  When I figured out that the files were ordered by client’s last name and then by month and year—bing bang boom. I filed like a kingpin. It was pretty easy work, but Mr. Nussbaum kept saying what an astonishingly good job I was doing.

  After I fulfilled my no-money civic duty, I’d walk home in the cold, feeling like all the world made sense—that is, if you just paid attention, put the right paper in the right folder, and slid it in the right drawer. But then I’d get home and find sad, broken Darius or super drunk Darius like I did one time.

  I yelled at him that he was an asshole for drinking again, but he didn’t care. He slurred, “I’ve got no reason for nothing.”

  Drunk, drunk, drunk.

  On the eleventh day, two days after I asked Mr. Nussbaum if Darius needed to hire a lawyer and Mr. Nussbaum laughed and said, “Your brother is so obviously guilty in every facet of his situation. Witnesses and blood tests verify all counts against him. All you’d be doing is adding to the total of this great financial disaster,” Darius got the letter from the county clerk telling him what he had to look forward to in the coming year.

  Here’s the what-what:

  1. A $1,100 fine.

  2. A twenty-four-month driver’s license suspension, minimum. (He’d have to do a bunch of alcohol assessments and driving courses or it would be longer.)

  3. A five-week stint (FIVE WEEKS) in the county jail, which would begin on January 2.

  4. And then there was the real kick i
n the salami. He had to pay $22,549.30 in restitution to the local company that franchised the KFC/Taco Bell. That’s how much damage my brother did to their drive-through window when he fell asleep and drove his stupid car into the side of the building.

  Darius, who was already tender in his man parts, both physical and emotional, fell on the floor, sobbing. I tried to comfort him. He told me to shut up with my sunny crap and go the f-bomb away. So I went back to the master suite. I could still hear him wailing.

  Two hours later, he knocked on the door and said, “Taco, I have an alcohol problem. I want to drink right now because I don’t know what else to do. I got loaded the other day because I got in a fight with Dad about money. I don’t have enough money to buy shoes, and there are holes in mine where the water comes through. But he seriously won’t help us anymore.”

  “Because of Miz?” I asked. “He needs money for her?”

  “No, because he’s Dad,” Darius said. “That’s why he won’t help. Without Mom, Dad is a bad man.”

  “Oh,” I said.

  “I’m a drunk. I don’t have money. And I can’t make money because I’m going to jail. And that means I can’t take care of you the way Mom wanted me to. Things are bad right now. We have to pay rent and utilities and…” Darius’s face got all red and splotchy, and his eyes watered. “Man, I hate saying this so much, Taco. I’m such a failure.” He looked up at the ceiling. “Please, I’m sorry, Mom, but Taco has to get a job or we’re going to all starve and die in the snow.” Then he looked back at me. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”

  “No,” I said. “Don’t be sorry. I can handle this.” I rolled out of bed. Darius had helped me so much. I could help him and me…and Maggie too. I wasn’t scared at all. I was so serious. “I will be a man.”

  “Oh shit,” Darius said. “You have no idea about life.”