Colby Galliher

Daniel didn’t feel like waking up; he knew the dumb morning was there whether he cared or not. Nine-thirty, ten o’clock, it didn’t matter—he had nothing to do. That’s what happens when you’re eleven years old. A thought lurked behind Daniel’s eyes, giving him the shadowy feeling that today meant something, he just couldn’t remember what. His stomach rumbled, but he ignored that, too. Daniel knew the kitchen was empty because yesterday he’d sprinkled the final bites of the Fruity Pebbles into a bowl for his little half-sister Kelsey before her dad’s hoe (mom’s word, only okay when she said it) picked her up. It had been mostly dust—but still. Watching Kelsey eat the last drop of food in the apartment made him want to punch her. He knew he shouldn’t—she would scream bloody murder—so he’d pushed her head, just a little. And she still cried like a baby.

            Eyes closed, Daniel turned onto his side, letting the stinky, sweaty sheets twist him up on the mattress. It was hot, but mom never let them turn on the AC until July. Suddenly, out of nowhere, Daniel heard a giant creak in the distance, as if the Earth up and changed direction, followed by a booming thud that resounded outwards towards him. His eyes jolted open, and rapidly he scanned the room for danger, but everything was the same as the night before. It must be Luna Park, Daniel figured, and then he remembered: it was his last day of fifth grade. They (the vague people who ran the park, he wasn’t sure who) were getting the park ready to open tomorrow, the first day of summer, and dumb coney island, sitting all wet and melty through winter and spring, would transform into Coney Island. Daniel envisioned ecstatic colored lights whirling together, the smell of fried dough wafting over salt-licked waves, and the Ferris wheel, a giant, mesmerizing dial in the sky. He’d never ridden that Ferris wheel. Mom said it was over one hundred years old and cost a whole ten dollars per person to ride. “What do you think, I’m made of money,” she said, side-eyeing him when he asked her if they could go. That was years back—he didn’t ask her anymore.

            Daniel’s eyes took a lazy lap around the room, passing over the vacant hump of Kelsey’s purple kiddy sheets on the mattress opposite his on the floor, and his clothes, dirty and stained, strewn every which way. When his eyes reached the end table—haunched on its side thanks to a busted leg and covered in Kelsey’s nasty dolls with the slug lips and buggy eyes, dolls that had no necks because he’d ripped their heads off and mom had to shove them back on as Kelsey wailed—to the computer underneath, Daniel’s heart pounded. He eyed it warily, afraid to look for too long. He did not trust this computer; the way it watched every game he played and hovered over every Google search like a dementor, whispering menacingly to his teacher, Mrs. Simpson, so mom had to come home from work and scream at him, making Kelsey cry. Mom cried after that, too. She hated having to scream, she always said, feeling bad. Daniel hated it, too. But mostly he was relieved he hadn’t been looking up naked girls or something. He would’ve really been in trouble then. Sometimes he logged on for his lessons like he was supposed to, but most of the time he didn’t. No matter how much he slept, Daniel was too tired and too left alone to care. He hated being alone, but he’d gotten used to it, sort of. It wanted nothing from him, asked nothing of him, even if it was boring as hell.

            Besides, Daniel figured, eventually rolling off the mattress to pee, everybody was alone. The people outside his window were inside alone, too. He tried not to look at them, but sometimes he couldn’t help himself. Even now, standing at the toilet with his hot piss streaming out, he looked out the window to the building next door, into Miss Old Lady’s apartment. There she sat, her hair done up in a silky bonnet thing, smoking skinny cigarettes and watching soap operas. She wore her usual green bathrobe and stroked Fat Cat’s fluffy gray body lazily, smoke trailing out of her old thin lips. Fat Cat sometimes sat on the fire escape and Daniel would watch it, wondering what it ever thought about. Rats, probably, big, and juicy. And food. Or nothing at all.

            Daniel squeezed his junk so the last of the pee came out, then flushed. Without a full bladder to distract him, hunger barged in, only now it was more persistent. Daniel found himself wandering into the kitchen. There probably wasn’t any Burger King left from last night’s dinner, but discreetly he lifted the lid of the trash can with his forefinger anyways. The stench smacked him right on the nose—he wasn’t going to root through it. Besides, that always made him feel pretty bad.  Most likely it was pay-day, he told himself. It was always bleak a day or two before mom got paid. Daniel opened the refrigerator, found a solitary half-gallon of milk, twisted the lid, and sniffed. Phew! Must’ve gone sour. Daniel pushed it to the back of the refrigerator. In the freezer there was a snowflake crusted bag of frozen vegetables, the corner torn and picked through so only bits of okra remained. He hated okra. He closed the door. In the drawer next to the fridge were plastic spoons and napkins, and a paper menu listing delicious items like lo Mein and chicken fried rice from the Chinese restaurant they sometimes ordered from. At the back of the drawer, he found a ketchup packet. Casually, Daniel took it and shut the drawer, tearing the corner of the packet with his teeth. He went to the living room sucking on the packet and turned on the TV with seven channels. He’d begged his mom for movie channels; Daniel loved movies: Into the Spiderverse, Jumanji, Wakanda Forever. He’d prayed for Netflix, Hulu, Vudu, anything—but it was too expensive. Everything was too expensive. He wished he was old enough to get a job. Daniel lay on the couch sucking the packet, squeezing and rolling up the end so all the ketchup came to the top. He flicked through golf and infomercials knowing he’d end up on PBS Kids. Daniel liked PBS Kids, but nobody knew that but him. He knew he was supposed to think learning was lame.

            As he waited for the commercials to end, a thump came from above, then he heard her yelling. Scary Mom, Daniel called her, but only to himself. He shuddered. He hated that his own mom was gone all day, but at least she wasn’t at home flipping out on him. Sometimes she yelled, but she never hit him, ever. He couldn’t make out what Scary Mom was saying, just heard the rhythm of her barking, then her pleading, followed by howling screams. Another thump, then the sound of someone little crying. Daniel turned up the volume. The show was starting.

            It was called Yoga with Greta. Somehow, Daniel hadn’t seen it before. He sucked out the last of the ketchup and shoved the empty packet between the couch cushions.

            A woman sat on a sofa in a place that looked like a living room, but Daniel knew it was a set, that it was fake. Moms old boyfriend Trevor told him; he knew about things like that. Her face was pretty and calm, and her long blond hair hung over her shoulders. Daniel liked her instantly. A young boy about Daniel’s age sat next to her with an iPad on his lap. They were talking, enveloped in a calming melody. “I’m sad,” the little boy was saying. His eyes were big and droopy, like they were swollen with waiting tears.

            “What’s wrong, Johnny?” Greta asked him.

            “I don’t have anyone to play with.”

            “Hmm, that’s not very fun. What do you like to do in your free time?”

Johnny looked at his iPad. “I want to play with my friends, but my mom and dad just tell me to watch YouTube videos.”

Daniel scoffed. He didn’t have any friends or an iPad.

“Do you like videos?” Greta asked.

“Sometimes, then I get bored. I feel alone a lot of times, and scared.”

“Scared of what?”

“The world. All the big, scary things out there.”

Greta’s brilliant teeth gleamed. “What if I showed you how to feel calm, even when you’re scared? No matter what’s happening around you?”

Daniel sat up. What was she talking about? He watched as Greta led Johnny to some cushions on the floor. Now Greta was talking to him. She looked straight through the tv at Daniel.

“Join us,” she said, but Daniel was nervous. He decided to stay on the couch.

“Close your eyes,” she said. To Daniel, she was a mermaid with her soft, rhythmic voice floating over the sea. Daniel closed his eyes to see what it felt like. “Take a deep breath through your nose. Let your belly fill up with breath, then your lungs, until you can’t fill them anymore.” Daniel filled his body with breath. “Now, part your lips, letting the breath out slowly.” They did this several times, and Daniel felt his body grow soft. His mind eased up, as if someone gently swiped an eraser over his eyes in broad strokes. He peeked at the tv. Little Johnny looked calm. Safe. Daniel closed his eyes. Greta told them to focus on their breath, but to try not to make the breath do stuff. Simply “observe yourself breathing.”

            “Now pay attention to your surroundings,” she continued, “Don’t think about them, just observe. What do you hear?” Rumblings from Luna Park trickled in. They must have faded to the background of Daniel’s brain, but they’d been there all along. “Now pay attention to the sensations of your body. Does anything hurt or feel tight? Release your muscles. Let everything relax.” Daniel relaxed.

“You are a sentient being,” she was saying, “forever and always, you are connected to the Earth. It doesn’t matter whether you’re inside with no nature around. You are Earth, and Earth is you. Each breath you take connects you to the Earth. It’s an acknowledgement that you’re here. Now. You’re here, right now. That’s all you need to think about. I’m here. Now.”

Daniel couldn’t feel the couch beneath him anymore. It was as if he was floating, neither here nor there but everywhere—and also nowhere at all. Normally, he would be scared, but it felt so good that he didn’t worry. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed. He just let Greta’s words and the calm music wash over him.

“You are the Universe,” she said, “and the Universe is you. Anytime you feel sad, or anxious, or scared, take a deep breath and come back to this place where you are safe and okay.” Then she grasped at Daniel and Johnny lightly with her words; her voice was like tickly bits of seaweed. Gently, she pulled them back down and asked them to open their eyes.

Daniel felt so calm, so relaxed. He looked at Johnny to see if he felt the same way. He seemed to. His eyelids were heavy but dry and he was smiling softly. And then they were waving goodbye. Daniel waved back.

A commercial started, garish and perverse. Snickering kids threw gobs of green slime at the camera. Daniel hated those kids, their slime. He turned the TV off. Though he didn’t mean to, Daniel felt his eyes wandering over to the window. He could see the building on the other side so close it choked the sunlight. If he opened the window, he could probably touch the brick wall, if he tried... Sure enough, he saw the man there, only he wasn’t exactly a man. He looked younger than Daniel’s mom but older than Daniel; he was more like a guy in Daniel’s mind. He sat with his back to the window and a computer in front of him. Talking Lady appeared on screen. It must be Friday, one pm. She wore glasses and her face was always serious. That’s what made Daniel sure that the guy shouldn’t be doing what he was doing underneath the table.

Daniel hoped he wouldn’t do it this time, but then he saw the guy unzip his pants. Daniel wanted to turn away, but he couldn’t. The guy pulled out his junk, slowly, so Talking Lady wouldn’t notice. And his head moved like he was saying something, but Daniel saw his arm going, stroking his junk. Daniel felt a pit in his stomach. He looked away, disgusted, but then he remembered what Greta said and closed his eyes, took a deep breath.

A phone rang. His mom’s ringtone. She left her phone at home? Daniel ran towards the sound and stopped in front of his mom’s closed bedroom door. He wasn’t allowed to go in her room without permission, especially if she wasn’t home, but the phone kept ringing. What if something was wrong?

Daniel turned the knob and saw the phone vibrating on the charger on the nightstand. The number wasn’t saved on the phone, but Daniel answered it anyway.

“Hello?’ he said.

“Daniel, is that you?” It was Mrs. Simpson from his hybrid school. His stomach dropped. He liked her well enough, she was nice and not scary. But still, he was in trouble, had to be.

“Uh, yeah, it’s me,” he said.

“You mean yes, it’s you?”

“Yes, it’s me,” he said, fidgeting.

“You didn’t show up for class today. Is everything okay?”

“Yeah. I mean, yes.”

“Is your mother home?”

“No,” he said. Mrs. Simpson sighed.

“Do you remember what we talked about?” He did, the last time he came for in-person class, but he didn’t want to think about it, so he stayed silent. She went on. “I told you that if you attended the last day of virtual school, I’d pass you and you’d move on to sixth grade. You’re a bright kid, Daniel, I wouldn’t say that if it weren’t true.” Daniel fingered the cord of the charger. “When you do show up or take a test, you perform well. But I’m worried about you. I don’t want you to fall behind and have to repeat fifth grade.”

“I know,” he said. He felt like little Johnny before Greta, his eyes droopy with tears. Again, Mrs. Simpson sighed. Daniel held his breath and yanked the nightstand drawer in and out with his foot.

“I’m not going to fail you, Daniel. Normally, it wouldn’t be right to go back on my word, but I’ve considered what’s best for your well-being. And I think it’s best I pass you.” Daniel felt relieved. He let his breath out slowly so Mrs. Simpson wouldn’t hear. “Middle school is going to be different,” she said, “and it’s going to be all in-person, which I think you’ll enjoy. Do you think you’ll be able to get to school every day?”

Daniel had no idea. He shook his head and yanked the drawer open with his big toe.

“Daniel?”

            “I don’t know,” he said, looking into the drawer. There were shiny little packets, lipstick, a gold bracelet, a wad of cash.

“Talk to your mom about it, and make sure you can. I can call her. When does she come home?”

“I don’t know,” he said. She sighed again. Poor Mrs. Simpson.

“I liked being your teacher this year, Daniel. I know it’s been hard, it’s been hard for everyone. What will you do this summer?” Daniel looked around the room at the broken dresser, the four walls dully lit around him. They were gray; everything looked dull and gray.

“I don’t know.” He was starting to sound like a broken record.

“Well, make sure you get outside and play. Get in nature, that’s the best thing for growing kids like you. I won’t be your teacher anymore, but you can call me anytime, for any reason, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Have a good summer, Daniel. Goodbye.”

He hung up. This time, Daniel opened the drawer with his hand. He wanted to count the money, but he was afraid. It felt like somebody was watching. He bolted from the room and slammed the door shut.

 —

Coney Island. Desperately, he wanted to go outside. He wanted to watch the people set up, see the popcorn kernels explode. He wanted one of those stuffed animals that if you punctured it, those tiny white balls poured out. They were probably greasing the wheels for the rides right now. Wouldn’t they need somebody to test drive? Daniel wished they’d pick him. He went into his room and kicked at the mattress. He should clean up, but he didn’t feel like it. Now that there wasn’t any school, he didn’t even have anything to think about, or to try not to think about.

Daniel went to the bathroom window, checked on Fat Cat. It laid on the fire escape, its fluffy gray tail flicking through the slats. His stomach squeezed itself. He thought about going back to the kitchen but thought better of it. Maybe Miss Lois was home next-door baking cookies. Most likely she was down the street getting her blood changed over. Dallysauce, or whatever she called it. Sticky. He rubbed his hands together; they were sticky from the ketchup packet.

Daniel turned on the tap and watched the water gush out. He picked up the nub soap and washed his hands. It smelled like powdery babies. He looked at himself in the mirror. He was cute enough, at least mom said so, and he was tall, thanks to a growth spurt last winter. What would middle school be like? They made fun of him when he was in third grade, hopefully nobody would make fun of him now.  Daniel turned off the tap, sensing movement out of the corner of his eye.

He turned to the shower. The clear plastic curtain was open, shoved between the tub and toilet. Something was happening through the tiny window carved out of the shower tile. He looked. A man and woman were there. Fighting. Daniel had never seen them before. He didn’t want to look, but he couldn’t help himself. He could never help himself. He stepped into the tub and pressed his face to the glass. The man was big, his muscles bulged. Why wasn’t he at work? He was probably a deadbeat—mom’s word. His hands were wrapped tightly around the woman’s shoulders, squeezing her. Her mouth was open, and her eyes were glassy and terrified, but the man kept shaking her so that her long hair squirmed like a hairy monster.

Daniel rubbed his teeth on the windowsill. He wanted to turn away, to run, but he couldn’t. Let your body fill with breath until you can’t breathe in anymore. The man shoved the woman and she stumbled backwards onto a chair, tipping it over. She was hunching, hunching over the chair. He hated it: the Deadbeat, and her hunching and covering her head. He grabbed her arms and ripped them off her face. Daniel saw the his arm wind back and his hand crunch into a fist, all meaty and purple. He saw it fly forward and crash into her jaw so that the woman collapsed, her back bending in an unimaginable way and her arms flopping over the sides of the chair. Daniel’s heart pounded. He yanked his mouth from the ledge. Just observe your breath. He backed away from the window, stumbling over the side of the bathtub, and ran to his room. He dove onto the mattress, pulled the sheet straight over his head, and squeezed his eyes shut. Why was this happening? Why did he have to hit her like that? Daniel was horrified. The room spun; Earth was picking up speed. He was just home, minding his own business—no he wasn’t. He was snooping, spying on everyone, bringing the outside in so that it invaded his aloneness, twisting it up and making it bad, very bad. There was no escape. You are the Universe, and the Universe is you. He wanted his mother. Mrs. Simpson called his mom his ‘mother.’ He wanted her to rub his back and sing to him like she did at night when he was scared and couldn’t fall asleep.

Daniel dozed off. When he woke, the light had dimmed and he was blazing hot, his head still covered by the sheet. His thumb was in his mouth like when he was a baby. He took it out. It was mealy and sopping wet, so he wiped it on the sheet. What time was it? In a flash, he saw the purple fist flying—he stopped thinking about that. Pay attention to the sensations in your body. He was starving, absolutely starving. Daniel didn’t know when his mom would be home, if she was working a double shift or not. He couldn’t remember what she told him last night, he was so focused on his cheeseburger and stuffing his face with those hot, salty fries.

Daniel crept towards his mom’s room. Hesitating, he opened the door. He went to the nightstand and opened the drawer, laid the money out on the bed. Tens, twenties, a few fives, some ones…Daniel counted nearly two hundred dollars. He slid a twenty into the pocket of his basketball shorts. Deep breaths. Long, deep breaths. Carefully, he folded the rest of the money and put it back in the drawer. In his room, he searched for his Spiderman backpack and found his house keys in the front zip pocket. Slowly, he caressed the puffs of Spiderman’s muscles.

Daniel thought about bringing his mom’s phone with him, but he didn’t want to lose it and get in trouble. Instead, he got a napkin and a pen from the junk drawer and wrote her a note in case she came home before he did.

Daniel waved goodbye to the apartment and went down the stairs, heading straight for Luna Park. He swore the smell of fried dough tickled his nose as he watched streaks of purple clouds fill the sky. He even wished Kelsey were here so he could take her with him, watch her giggle happily. Daniel walked. It wasn’t Summer until tomorrow, but already he could see the Ferris wheel turning slowly in the coming sunset.