Orphan's Journal

                                                                                                                                                                        28 Nov. 1916

My Ma’s way of arguing with you is staring at you hard in the face.  She does it with Pop all the time and even if he’s yellin’ his head off, when she stares at him real hard there really isn’t much he can do except look away.  She did it tonight when Pop came home from work.  I thought she was gonna make him cry the way she was looking at him.  It would have made me cry.  Pop didn’t, though.
                     
Ma was in the kitchen of our apartment doing something, I think ironing, and I was in the bedroom, supposed to be keeping my brothers and sister busy.  I was having a pretty tough time of it, though.  They don’t wanna ever do anything I like doing.  I don’t understand little kids.  Ma says I don’t have no patience, just like my father.  I tell her I don’t know what patience is and she tells me to go play with my brothers and sister.

That’s what I’m doing when Pop comes home.  I mostly tickle my brothers on the bed and they laugh and sometimes fall off and then my sister laughs and we have a pretty good time, so I think I have some patience, anyway.  When I hear him come in, I tell the other three to get real quiet.  They stare at me with wide eyes and all of us just sit, knowing the yelling will start.

Ma stopped her ironing when she heard the rattle of the doorknob.  I could see her through the doorway of the bedroom that leads to the kitchen.  We all sleep in the bedroom on cold nights and on warm nights Pop stays in the kitchen with a worried look, deep lines running like rivers across his forehead.  I don’t know what he’s worried about, but I’m pretty sure it’s got something to do with money because Pop comes home grumbling about wages this, wages that.  Ma asks him where are his wages.  Pop says he can’t understand how she can nag him about wages all the time when they’re out the window as soon as he steps through the door, what with so many mouths to feed and a roof to keep over our heads.  Ma says it wouldn’t matter, roof or no roof, it’s so cold in here anyway.

"Alex, what’s wages?" Irene asks me.


My sister is four and she doesn’t understand much.  I put my hand over her mouth and we all lay back in the dark bedroom, light from the kitchen spraying across the bedspread and the voices getting loud and louder.

                                                                                                                       
                                                                                                                                                                        30 Nov. 1916

Yesterday, Ma took us kids down to Nesler’s Market to get some things.  My sister, Irene, is four.  I have two brothers, Howard and Ollie, who are five and seven.  I’m Alexander and I’m ten, the oldest.  Ma makes me take care of the kids and I don’t know if I really take care of them because that’s something adults do, but Ma is a lot nicer if I just agree and do like she says.

I got them all bundled up and we sat in the hallway right outside our door to wait.  It smells out in the hallway.  There are no windows and mostly all of the light bulbs are burnt out.  The walls are black and you can see bits of the wood floor from underneath the tattered carpeting.  When we sit on the floor it’s cold, and we can see tiny black specks that we think are droppings from mice.  We’ve seen them scamping across our own floor and it’s just on the other side of the door that we’re sitting up against, so why couldn’t the mice get out here too?

Inside our apartment, Ma was screamin’ herself red in the face, emptying out cans that she stores money in, slamming cupboard doors when she finds Pop has found all her hiding places.  I wish Pop wouldn't take all the money Ma hides.  I don't know exactly what he takes it for, but I think it's so he can put it in a better hiding place than a tin can.  I hope Ma forgives him.

Finally she came to the door.  I scrambled the kids to their feet and she cussed Pop out, even though he wasn't with us.  I started to tell her that, but she said, "let me talk Alex, just let me talk."  I let her talk, even though I’m not Pop.

When we got outside, Ma hurried us along the sidewalk faster than we could run.  It was cold; wind slapped at our faces, Irene started to cry even though I was carrying her.  Ma doesn’t have a coat or mittens and by the time we got down the street to Nesler’s Market, her hands were cracked and bleeding from the cold and the wind.  Irene’s ears were bright red and snot from her nose ran down her lips, into her mouth.  I swiped at her with my sleeve. Ma just stared at me and I know I should have asked for a tissue instead, but I was too cold and didn't think to ask for one.

Inside, people stared at us and shook their heads.  Ma keeps her face to the floor and doesn’t seem to notice.  I notice though, and think real hard about askin' one of 'em what it is they're starin' at, but I think I already know.  I look back at Ma to see if she's looked up yet, but she's still starin' at the floor.  I wonder what she’s lookin’ at and almost ask her how she knows what she’s shoppin’ for if she doesn’t ever look up.  Mrs. Nesler greets Ma at the counter then and asks about Pop, how he’s gettin’ on and has she heard about the layoffs down at the plant where Pop and Mr. Nesler both work.  I wonder what a layoff is.