Our Fragile Hearts. Buffy Andrews

each of us a paper bag with a letter written on it and we had to find items in the room that started with that letter.”

      “What was your letter?”

      “A, which was easy because I saw an apple on Mrs. Baker’s desk. Jacy had X and she couldn’t find anything, but then I helped her.”

      “So what did you find?”

      “A xylophone. I saw it on the toy shelf and it looked just like the one in the alphabet book Mommy bought me. It was different colors, like a rainbow.”

      “Sounds like a fun game.”

      I pulled into the parking space in front of our apartment building and turned off the car. Piper continued talking about the alphabet scavenger hunt. “And tomorrow is letter A day,” she said, opening her backpack and pulling out a piece of light-blue paper. “Mrs. Baker said we’re supposed to bring in an item that starts with the letter A.”

      I smiled. “Why don’t you look for something while I take care of some things?”

      Piper went to her room and I went to the kitchen to make a cup of coffee. I remember when I was in kindergarten. We had alphabet days and most of the time I couldn’t find anything to take. Mom thought it was stupid and never helped me. I will always remember letter V day. I was so proud of myself. I found the letter V on a bottle sitting on the counter. When it was my turn to share what I’d found, Mrs. Marshal’s eyes popped and she grabbed the nearly empty bottle. When I got home, Mom screamed and called me names.

      I cowered in the corner. “Please, Mommy. Don’t hit me. I didn’t mean to get you in trouble.”

      Mom held up a bottle of vodka and pointed at me. “Don’t you ever take a bottle of my booze to school ever again. Do you hear me? I don’t need them coming around here nosing in our business.”

      “But it was letter V day,” I had explained. “And we were supposed to bring something with the letter V on it for show and tell. I didn’t know it was bad.”

      “It’s not bad.” Mommy collapsed on the couch. “You’re bad. Now go to your room and stay there. And don’t come out until I tell you to.”

      I ran to my room and closed my door. It was the third time that week I’d come home to find Mom drunk. She was a mean drunk, too. She hit me and said things that no parent should ever say to a child.

      Later that night, when I was sure she’d fallen asleep, I sneaked into the kitchen. I was hungry and ended up eating some carrots and a banana that was mostly black. The next morning, Mom was still asleep on the couch so I ate some more carrots and another black banana and walked to the bus stop.

      Dana, who was a year older than me and lived in the same apartment building, was there. She pointed to my clothes. “You wore that yesterday. And you stink.”

      I sniffed. I didn’t think I smelled funny. I smelled like I always smelled. I looked down at my red shirt and black leggings. Dana was right. I hadn’t changed my clothes since putting them on the morning before. But that’s because I didn’t have clean clothes. Mom hadn’t done the laundry in days.

      When I got to school, my teacher took me down to the nurse’s office.

      “Hi, Rachel,” Mrs. Bee said. “Let’s see if I can find you some nice clothes to wear for the day.”

      “But I have clothes.”

      “Yes, you do. And they’re very pretty clothes. But aren’t those the clothes you wore yesterday?”

      I nodded.

      “Well, why don’t we find you clean clothes?”

      I could feel my heart beat faster. “But you’ll give back my clothes, right? Because Mommy will hit me if I don’t bring my clothes home.”

      “Hit you?”

      “Yes. She hits me and then she sends me to my room and doesn’t feed me so I have to sneak out when she falls asleep on the couch.”