Page 4 of Tainted Love

“We need to get going,” Michael’s grandmother says. “Maybe we can stop for ice cream on the way home?”

“Yes!” Michael exclaims with a fist pump. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Sascha,” he replies as he grips her hand and skips away. I’m already excited about tomorrow.

My first friend in kindergarten, his name is Michael.

Chapter 2

“American Pie”

Taz - Age 5, 1975

The dinner table is quiet, except for my dad’s deep voice breaking through the stillness. He asks, “Aren’t you hungry?”

I look at my cheeseburger and shrug my shoulders, not wanting to admit I’m tired of McDonald’s almost every night. The smell of greasy fast food makes my stomach feel sick. I want something homemade, like Gram’s famous meatloaf and mashed potatoes, but she hasn’t been here for the past few days.

Dad’s not a good cook. He sticks to the basics—spaghetti, hot dogs, and macaroni and cheese. Sometimes, he tries to experiment. One night, it was tuna helper with crushed Cheez-It crackers on top. I should be happy tonight’s meal is not one of those experiments.

I miss Gram.

Her house is in a small town an hour away. She lives with us sometimes and at her house sometimes, depending on what she needs to do. This afternoon, she had to return home for appointments and check on her golden retriever, Farrah Pawcett.

Sometimes, when she stays with us longer, she brings Farrah, which makes me so happy. Farrah always gives me wet kisses that make me giggle, and at night, she curls up next to me—her soft, golden fur helping me fall asleep.

When Gram is here, everything feels different. She brings happiness and love with her, like sunshine on a rainy day. I wish she could live with us all the time. Even though she’s not my mom, she takes care of me like I am her own. She always makes me lunch for school and picks me up. She never forgets. I know that if I ever need her, Gram will always be there for me.

My mom isn’t here anymore. I keep hoping she will come home one day, but Brian says she won’t. He says she was unhappy with my dad, so she left to go on tour with a band.

I think about her a lot, but my memories of her are starting to fade. I do remember she smelled like roses and had a beautiful voice. She used to sing us lullabies, but that was a long time ago.

My dad doesn’t talk much about her, but I know he’s sad. He stays out late with friends and drinks too many adult drinks—at least, that’s what Gram says. He tries, but I think he’s lonely. It’s hard for him to take care of my brother and me, and most times, we are the ones who take care of him.

He doesn’t go to work every day like some parents. He sleeps a lot, and when he’s awake, he never feels good until he smokes some cigarettes and drinks a bunch of coffee.

I look around our small family table and sigh. It’s quiet; no one is trying to talk to each other. As I bite my cheeseburger, something catches my eye—my Happy Meal toy. It’s a yo-yo, just like the one I got yesterday, but it’s purple instead of the bright pink from before. I can’t wait to show Sascha; she’ll love it. Purple and blue are her favorite colors. We can have a yo-yo battle.

I quickly snatch it up and scurry over to my backpack, carefully placing it inside for safekeeping until tomorrow. The bag is bursting with all my other treasured possessions, like figurines and Army men, but I manage to cram it in amongst the jumbled mess.

After dinner, Dad excuses himself to go outside, leaving my older brother Brian and me to clean up. But instead of helping, Brian turns to me with a grin and says, “You heard him, Buttmunch. Clean this up.” Then he heads to his room, slamming the door behind him as a loud rock song starts blasting from behind the door.

With another heavy sigh, I grab all the greasy food wrappers and throw them in the trash. After finishing the clean-up, I grab my paper from my backpack, ready to tackle the challenge of learning how to write my letters. We’re working on capital letters right now. Tracing the curves and loops of the letters, I work especially hard on B, F, J, M, N, and S—all of which are difficult for me. Some are in my name, so I need to get them right.

If Gram comes this weekend, she can help me. Thoughts of Gram teaching me how to write my letters while Farrah lays at my feet make me smile, but that smile doesn’t last long when the music coming from Brian’s room gets even louder.

He hardly ever talks to me anymore. He’s busy with his new football friends, and he’s been a jerk lately, even more than usual. He spends most of his time in his room blasting Led Zeppelin from his record player. He’s in fifth grade and likes to tell me he knows more than me since he’s eleven, and I’m only six. I’m not trying to get punched, so I don’t argue.

The following day, we arrive at the bus stop on time even though my Dad is still asleep. I’m tired and grumpy. After coloring last night, I tried to go to sleep, but between Brian and my dad, it was loud in the house. I could hear some of Dad’s friends in the living room for most of the night.

One of them was still here this morning, asleep on the couch. Brian scoffed and went about his business. At least before we left for school, he took a moment to help me pack a small lunch—which is not what he usually does.

Grams had done some grocery shopping before she left, so Brian made us peanut butter, banana, and marshmallow fluff sandwiches. That’s always been one of my favorites. I wonder if Sascha will like it.

As I bounce in my seat on the big, yellow bus, I gaze out the window and take in the familiar surroundings of our neighborhood. I think about how much I like going to school and look forward to it every day. I like my teacher and the fun things we do in class. But most of all, I like Sascha.

“What is that?” she asks, sitting across from me at the lunch table.

“It’s delicious,” I say. “You have to try it.”

Her face is untrusting as she questions, “What is the white stuff?”