Isat on my beanbag in my pajamas with a bowl of Fruit Loops propped on my stomach while I watched cartoons. On the floor next to me was my Muppets glass filled with juice. I kept turning the volume up so I could hear the TV over Mom and Dad.
Why do they keep sending Scooby and Shaggy together? They just get into trouble, and both are scaredy cats.
“Do you know how embarrassing it is?” Mom cried.
“Don’t you think you’re being a bit dramatic, Miranda?” Dad asked.
“I hate you! You never take me seriously!”
“Oh really? Well, by all means, please tell me how embarrassing it is for you,” Dad yelled back. “It must be just awful for you to get up at eleven and go sit at a fucking park with your rich-bitch friends!”
“Yeah, hello? It’s embarrassing that their kids are starting to read! Patty isn’t even fucking talking yet!”
“Stop calling him Patty. We named him Patrick. You keep calling him that pussy name and he’s going to be a pussy forever.”
“He’s four, William!”
They were talking about me.
I set my bowl down and leaned back into the beanbag. I tried to concentrate on the ghost that Scooby and the gang were trying to find, but Mom and Dad’s screaming and throwing things made my heart pound and gave me a stomachache.
“Well, I’m really sorry he’s not at the same fucking speed your bitchy friends’ kids are! You know, he’s the way he is because of you,” Dad yelled.
“Oh? It’s my fault he doesn’t speak yet? How is it my fault?”
“Snorting coke while pregnant isn’t good for the unborn child. It also doesn’t help that your family has a long history of mental illness that poured right into him.”
Me?
“You’re a fucking shrink, William! Obviously not a very good one because you can’t fix him!”
“You’re sick in the head!” Dad yelled as he followed her down the stairs. I pulled my feet under me on the beanbag.
“I am not! It’s just more shit you’ve been feeding me and trying to get me to believe!” Mom screamed as she stormed into the living room. She pounded her hand on top of the TV as she walked by. “Turn this shit off!” she screamed at me.
I scampered for the remote and knocked my cereal bowl and glass of juice over.
“See, William? Did you see him react to me? He understands and just refuses to talk! He’s embarrassing us on purpose!” Dad ignored her screaming and focused on the spilled juice and cereal.
“Goddammit, Patrick!” He grabbed my arm and pulled me off my beanbag. He shook me until I felt dizzy, and when he let go of me, I flopped onto the beanbag. “What have I told you about eating in the living room?”
Not to.
“Huh?”
I’m sorry.
“Don’t scream at him, William!” Mom yelled.
“God, woman, do you hear yourself? You just came in here ranting and screaming and pounding on the TV like a lunatic. Did you not just scream at him?” Dad asked.
“Why are you watching this shit and not listening to your audio books, Patty?”
“I told you to stop calling him Patty. The boy’s name is Patrick. You confuse him with names.”
She took hold of my shoulders and slapped me.
“I know you hear me, Patty. I know you understand me. You need to start talking. Pamela’s and Alana’s little boys talk. They play with you on the playground and in the sand.”
