Page 1 of Wild & Worthy

Prologue

The car needs gas.

I know because that’s what the little orange light means, and it’s been blinking since we left. Mom always tells me not to worry, but I can’t help it. I always do. But I don’t say anything this time, because she always gets grumpy when I say things like that. She’ll just tell me the light always comes on early, and that we have more time left than the car thinks we do. That doesn't really make sense to me, because why would it come on if we don’t need gas? We have never actually run out of gas, though, so I guess that’s proof she’s right.

I’ve got my backpack with me. It’s my blue one with the broken zipper on the pocket I keep meaning to tell Mom about, but I don’t want her to cry. She cries a lot about silly things. So I just don’t say anything. Inside, I have my two best Matchbox cars, the ones with good wheels that actually roll. I’ve also got my toothbrush and three pairs of underwear. Nana always asks if I’ve got clean undies, so I made sure to pack plenty.

I brought a granola bar that I took from the school snack cart yesterday when no one was looking. You’re not supposed to take extras, so I was super careful not to get caught. I’m six now, so I think I could get in big trouble with the police if I were caught stealing.

Mom says I’m a big boy now. And I know big people can get in trouble with the cops. I figure if big people get in trouble with the police, then I need to be extra careful now that I am big.

I didn't have time to pack much else. I didn't even know we were going anywhere until Mom stumbled out of her bedroom around eleven and announced, “Get your backpack, baby– we’re going to Nana’s.”

I asked if I could bring my good cars, and she said yes, so I went and got them. That’s when I remembered to pack some undies too.

I’m excited to go to Nana’s. I hate the apartment we’re living in right now. It’s on the third floor and smells like cigarette smoke and whatever our neighbors are having for dinner. We’ve been here since—hmm—before Christmas, I think? Before that, we lived at the place with brown carpets. Before that, we lived at Darren’s house, but we’re not supposed to talk about Darren.

I liked the brown carpet place, okay. My room had a window that looked out at a parking lot, but if you pressed your face against the glass and looked left, you could see the tree I would climb every day after school.

We’ve been driving for a long time, and I’m still worried about the orange light. I try not to look at it, so I look at the back of my mom’s head instead. Her hair is down today, dark and a little tangled at the ends from sleeping. She’s still wearing the clothes she came home in last night. I know because I peeked out of my room when I heard the front door open at two in the morning. I look from her head to her hands on the wheel. They’re doing that shaky thing again.

I know what that means. It means she needs ‘mommy medicine.’ It goes away after a while, after she takes her medicine or drinks from the bottle in the cabinet. Then she's regular mom again, laughing and loud and calling me her best boy. I like regular mom the best. I know to leave her alone when she gets like this. I hope she brought her medicine with her. I should have grabbed the bottle from the cabinet and put it in my backpack for her.

"You hungry?" She asks without turning around. Like she could feel me looking at her; she probably can. Nana says grownups have eyes in the back of their head. I tried looking for them once when we lived with Darren, but he woke up while I was checking him and got really mad at me. He shoved me off him real hard. It hurt, but I told Mom it didn’t. She didn't believe me, so we stayed with Nana for a week after that, and I never saw Darren again.

“No. I’m not hungry,” I lie. I am a little, but I have the granola bar in my bag if I need it. I don’t want to stop unless it’s for gas, because I’m excited to see Nana. She always has cookies, and her TV has cartoons all day. ALL DAY!

"We'll get something on the way," she tells me. Mom turns the radio on and then off again. Taps the wheel. I watch as we pass a gas station.

"Mom?"

"Mm."

"Is everything okay?"

She looks at me in the rearview mirror and gives me a smile. The one that's just for me, just for when I ask that question. It’s smaller than her regular smile. "Everything's fine, baby. We're just going to see Nana."

We stop once at a gas station I know that’s close to Nana’s because she brings me here sometimes. Mom goes in for cigarettes, and I sit in the car and count the bugs on the windshield. There are eleven, and one of them is still moving even though it’s squished.

She comes back out with cigarettes and a cherry Slurpee for me, which is my favorite. She hands it through the window and says, "Don't tell Nana," which is a joke we have about sugar, because Nana has rules about too much sugar.

She lights a cigarette, leaning against the car, looking out at the highway while she pumps gas. I sip the Slurpee and watch her. She does this sometimes, gets really quiet and stares at nothing for a while. I've learned to wait for her because she eventually comes back.

She always comes back.

A semi pulls out of the lot, and she watches it go and then looks down at the cigarette in her hand like she forgot she was holding it.

"Mom."

She looks at me.

"I like cherry."

She looks sad for a second before she crouches down beside the window and cups my cheek in her free hand, and looks at me for a moment like she's memorizing something.

"I know you do, baby," she says. "I know."

Then she gets back in the car, and we keep driving to Nana’s.