Practice Sessions. That was the ugliest phrase in the 6th grade. Mrs. Puin called me up after class and told me the bad news. I would need to come in and tomorrow. Early. Practice sessions was code for “putting dumb kids with smart kids”. In my case, it meant time with Kyle.

Fuckin Kyle.

At about 6 inches shorter than the girls in class, Kyle was “the man”. His dad was rich, which meant that Kyle was rich. Nobody knew what his dad did. Buying something and selling it. It didn’t matter, cause when you saw the driveways at his house, you knew these half-Italians had some cash.

While Kyle was busy dating the girls in class, I was sweating. Through my dress shirt. Through 1st period. Through my husky Dockers. I sweat through the spelling bee while Kyle spelled every word correctly and mocked me for it. And I sweat through his sessions tutoring the dumm-O’s, as he called us.

Now, I had to tell Mom. Tell her that she had to wake up an hour early before work to drive dumm-O me to school. So Kyle could tell me how dumb and fat I truly was.

The line of cars was in motion, picking everyone up from school. One kid at a time. It was like a waltz. A waltz with minivans. Kyle’s mom had the nicest one. Mom pulled up in the Town and Country. The sliding door started to open, but I wasn’t having it.

I just wanted the door to close. But no, it had to push back.

Mom, somewhat cheerily, said, “Hey, watch it, you’re gonna break the—”

“I. DON’T. care” I said, retching at the door. Stupid door, why couldn’t it just gimme a break?

“Hey. What’s gotten into you? Get in.”

I was huffy. I couldn’t believe everyone was turning against me. It wasn’t my fault I hated school. That I couldn’t focus ’cause I was so fat and stupid. I moved to the front of Mom’s bumper. I was on autopilot. “Nothing’s gotten into me, MOM! Why can’t you just get it?” I punched the hood of the van with both hands.

People were watching. If anything possessed Mom’s cobwebbed brain, it was the thought of everyone gossiping about us. Now, I could tell Mom anything, Anything. But only when the windows were up, and the car was running.

With her painted smile, Mom said, “Get in the car.”

“Why are you always—”

“Get in the car. We have to go,” she repeated.

It didn’t make sense. I was really good at other stuff. When I was home, I could do almost anything. It wasn’t even my homework that sucked. It was the in-school stuff. I was great at computers, but Mrs. Puin didn’t care. If I wasn’t a math-wiz, I was garbage. I hated school.

So I went to the door and I heard, “Close the door and tell me what’s up.” Mom was blasting the A/C. I knew what that meant: More noise so the outside world couldn’t hear us. Mom was so paranoid, it was para-annoying.

So I slammed the door shut. The glass rang. Mom wasn’t having it. She released the brake and sped off. It was like 6 mph, but in the parking lot, she might as well have been doing 60.

“Now before you say anything, can I please get an apology for what you just did out there?”

“Did WHAT?”

“Your little tantrum. What’s the rule?” Mom said.

“I didn’t—”

“What’s the rule?”

I slumped back into the passenger’s seat and crossed my arms across my chest, then muttered what she wanted to hear “Don’t say anything until the windows are up, and the engine is running.”

“Right. So, the windows are up, and the engine is running. Would you like to apologize and then explain to me what the hell just happened? I think you owe me at least that much.”

“idon’toweyoushit,” I said. (mistake)

“Excuse me?” Mom lighted.

“What?”

“You wanna try that again?” she asked, eyebrows raised and eyes ready to burst from her fat head.

“I didn’t do anything.”

She shook her head. “You’ve done a lot of things. You wanna try that apology again, and I’ll forget you swore at me.”

“You wouldn’t get it,” I quietly said, turning my attention to the window. Not what was going on outside it, just the window and the dirt streaks on it.

“Get what?” Mom asked. Her tone changed. It was gentler. Like she was trying to kill me with kindness or whatever.

“Nothing”

“Heyyy, nothing is something,” she said with patience.

“Forget about it, just drive,” I said.

“Don’t you tell me what to do with my car, mister.” Her snippy tone was back.

The car was at a red light, so we were stuck. Mom had that look like I had done something really bad. I felt trapped. In the car. With Mom, the last person I wanted knowing how dumb I was.

“It’s nothing, I’ll tell you about it later.”

“No, tell me now. Is everything okay?”

“It’s fine.”

“It’s not though, cause you’re all pissy, and I want to find out why!”

“It’s NOTHING, Mom. Okay? You couldn’t even help it if you wanted.”

“Why is that?”

“Cause… just drive.”

“No, I won’t.”

“DRIVE, Mom!”

“NO!”

Mom heard the car horn behind us as she sprayed my schnoz with spittle. That was it. I gave up. I tried to tell Mom about the green light, and she spits on me. Mom gunned it hard. She shook me into my seat. I was kind of scared. She was going fast.

“I just don’t get what’s wrong with you.”

“Nothing’s wrong with me. Why are you always so mean, Mom?”

“So mean? That’s the last thing I’m trying to be.”

“Well, you are. Deal.”

“I won’t deal. I’m trying to fix this. I want to fix everything for you, don’t you understand that? I’m your biggest cheerleader and I just want you to feel happy.”

“Well, I don’t, and I can’t, and you can’t fix it, and you can’t help me, and I’m a fucking idiot and you’re just gonna have to live with it.”

“An idiot?” she said, almost to herself. Like she was pondering the possibility. She pulled over into the nearest parking lot (flailing me straight into the window). It was in front of Pearl Paint Shop. Mom parked the car.

“Oh GOSH. WHAT? What do you want to know?” I said. Stupid tears started forming in my stupid eyes.

“Who said you were an idiot?”

“Stop it. NO ONE.”

“Who. said. you were an idiot? I want you to tell me.”

“No one said it, Mom.”

“You know, you’re so full of crap right now, and I know you’re lying. Just tell me!”

“No one said anything.”

“If someone is saying that, we need to know. The school needs to know so that we can stop this… this harassment.”

“It’s not harassment.”

“Then what is it? Who’s calling you stupid?”

“No one is calling me stupid.”

“Fine, an idiot.”

“Oh, so now I’m an idiot, Mom?”

“No that’s not what I … Ughhh… You’re being so god damn difficult, and I wish you would tell me.”

“Well, you’ll find out soon enough.”

Mom stopped. She shifted and found a new vector. “Did you bully someone? Did you touch someone?”

I swear my head snapped so fast in her direction I probably got whiplash. “What? No!”

“Look me in the eyes and tell me you didn’t”

I continued to look at her. “What the fucking crap, Mom? I’m the victim here, the fat-assed, pimply-butted idiot. You can’t help me.”

“Why not?”

“Cause you’ll only make it worse.”

“How?”

“Can you just shut up already?”

“God, will you stop sniveling AND JUST TELL ME?” Mom screamed through the blasting A/C. We both started tearing up.

“Fine! You wanna know? It’s your fault, ’cause I got your SHITTTTTTy genes that made me FAT and sweaty, and stupid. I can’t do any math, cause I suck, and now I have to go in early for math help from KYLE, who’s going to make me feel even dumber and remind me that I’m stupid and fat and poor and that nobody likes me. And it’s all your fault. I just wanna die. I hate school, and I hate you, and I don’t know what I’m going to do, and I—” I stopped breathing. My tears were so thick I was choking on them. Why was I freaking out like this?

Mom was crying, too.

“I just wish you weren’t fat, ’cause I’m fat and it’s so hard to be the fat kid in school. I’m the fatso in class. That’s how everyone knows me. So That’s what!”

Mom. Speechless. Still.

“What? The engine’s still running! Huh! What, you can’t say anything now? You did this. What. WHAT?”

I started to calm down, but Mom was still pretty upset. I mean, I served her up a FAT spoonful of attitude. Bigger than the spoonful she must have eaten as a kid.

Then she moved toward me. I winced, expecting my teeth to get smacked in. Instead I got something so much worse.

She reached into the backseat and pulled out a Lego Star Wars box. The box I especially asked for like 2 months ago.

It was like the greatest thing she ever got me, but that wasn’t all. She pointed back into the car. I turned and saw a whole bag of Lego boxes in the back. It was better than Christmas.

And I just destroyed Mom.

I don’t think I ever said anything more awful to her in my life.

“I wanted to surprise you,” was all that she could say.

“I… Mom… I…”

“I just wanted to see you smile when you saw everything.”

Something broke.

I just sat there.

In the car, with the engine running and the windows up.

I wanted so badly to hug her but knew she didn’t want me anymore. My one ally, and I burned that whole bridge down.

I’d spend a million dollars just to get that hug back.

So I tried saying, “I’m sorry,” and didn’t know if it meant anything.

I didn’t deserve toys, or love, or anything else. Deep in my heart, I knew I would pay for this. I saw my future, going to prison, rotting away in some awful desert, and then I felt a warm, fatty arm. Mom wrapped around me, pressing her hefty body weight against me and the Legos.

We cried, and I just wished I could take it all back.

I wished I could live right here. I finally got it. I understood love, and bridges.

And the importance of the windows being up and the engine running.

Keeping me in her arms, Mom put her warm voice in my ear. “I’m thinking.”

She was so sincere, “with the divorce and all that I… well, I heard of this place called Portland. It’s in Oregon. Weird, I know. What’s in Oregon? But it seems like a nice place, and, I want to take you with me from Cleveland. I think it’ll be better for both of us.”