Plums

Standing by the window on my tiptoes I can barely see the outline of the driveway. She should be home by now.  She told me she would be home by 8 but it’s almost 9 now.  I lower back down to my slippered feet and pace the floor. That familiar feeling arrives.  Sweaty palms. Slight feeling of vomit in my stomach. Where is she? She promised she would be on time. I look at myself in the reflection in the window and know I should be strong. But I just want her to be home and for tomorrow to come when we’re all eating breakfast around the table, reading our cereal boxes and milk cartons. That there is some chatter, even arguing, just some noise instead of the silence here that keeps encircling me.  

I reach into the sink to pull out another purple plum. How many have I eaten now? We picked them for hours today. Trying to dodge Bart, our black lab, who is always out of control and jumping all over me. When I give a quiet yell to tell him to go away my mom scolds me and says that he loves me and that’s why he keeps jumping. She tells me that he never jumps on her when she takes him on walks and I wonder when she has ever taken him on a walk. He doesn’t have a leash or even a collar.  

We pick more plums. I love plums. Purple and still slightly firm. That sweetness that you can plonk whole into your mouth and then slowly suck and chew on the pit for hours. We put them into brown paper bags from Safeway and always fill the bags too full so they split as we try to carry them to the kitchen. Plums rolling all over the patio. Picking them up again and putting them into the now torn broken bag I cradle them like a baby and squeeze through the sliding glass door that has been opened just enough for me to shimmy through but not crazy Bart.  

As I walk through the darkness of the family room, I smile at the big, no huge, inflated yellow Chiquita banana resting in the corner. My dad brought it a while back. I think he won it in some type of contest and we were all so happy. Who wouldn’t want a huge yellow banana? It does brighten up this dark room with the thick olive green shaggy carpet and enormous vomit colored couch could that could seat all four of us in front of the tv if we were all ever there.  

In the kitchen, I’m blinded by the sudden contrast from dark and sullen to bright, white aesthetic. White wooden cupboards, white laminate counters and floors. Everything in this kitchen is polished white except, of course, for the enormous yellow and orange flowers that are papered onto the walls. Such a happy kitchen.  

As I put the plum in my mouth and make myself still so that I might hear a car arriving, I can hear my grandma saying how I will get a stomachache if I keep eating plums all day. And, of course I always do. One of the worst stomachaches, a brown bag of plums sitting in a heap at the bottom of my stomach refusing to come out anyway until they finally do. We always have so many plums in that sink and I really don’t know where they all go as there is never jam or tarts or cakes. Just all in my stomach I guess.

I take another peek out the window and still nothing. I wonder again what I will do if my mom never comes home. Where would I go? Who would I live with? I know that if my brother was in charge he would leave me without ever looking back.  Though everyone laughs, I think he has truly tried to kill me at least 5 times. I don’t know why he doesn’t like me. I’ve never done anything to him except existed. And we do have such a good time in the mornings, racing out to the heaters as the hot air pumps out. There isn’t anything more comforting than a morning heater sit. My nightgown blowing up like a parachute as the warm air circles around my body. I look over at the heaters, searching for some of that warmth but they only come on in the mornings. I don’t know why.  

But now, suddenly, I can hear the car pulling up. I stand at an angle so they can’t see me watching them and can see two bodies embracing and I know my mom has cast her spell on another man. I don’t care. She’s home. As the keys in the door turn, I think about running to my bedroom and pretending I’m asleep but I can’t resist the warm hug even though it is always accompanied by a tired look of not again.