Alice Thinks, a short story

Alice Thinks

She is angry sure with me.

She probably knows I’m here but I’m here anyway out of her way. There are not many places to hide. This is the best. I listen to know when she moves so I can be ready when she comes.

It’s a dress that tickles my face. The long blue one with the cocoa stain I think, but I mustn’t move. That would tell her sure I am here. Wake her up.

She’s not in her bed. On the floor. Tired sure.

I have to pee. I really have to pee.

I’m late for school. Second day I missed it. She’s on the floor outside the bathroom and I really have to pee. I can’t get there. She’s in the way and I’ll wake her up sure.

Get this dress from my face, it really tickles, and there’s a noise: a shoe. I must have tipped it. Now I must be stiller than a chair because she must have heard that.

There is no noise come back from her. Didn’t wake her up. She’ll be mad sure if I wake her up.

I really have to pee.

I listen harder and I can hear cars outside on the street. I’ve seen them stop for the red light and start up again when it goes green and stop again when the light comes back red so the cars coming the other way can go. The lights never stop. I hear the cars stop and go.

And there’s a door open and close, probably Mr. Matthew across the way he’s off to work leaving Puddles alone all day. She’s a good pup he says and knows where to do it on the paper where he can clean it up when he gets home. So why does he call her Puddles? Here comes the elevator for Mr. Matthew. He has pictures of his wife and his little darling, he calls her, that she took, and he says “she” with his voice says I know who he’s talking about, when she, the same voice, moved to California. He asked me once where my daddy was and I said I didn’t know. Mommy didn’t know either, she said, but I shouldn’t have asked she hit me so hard.

That’s the phone. It rings and is turned up loud, and now she’ll wake up sure and look for me. Ringing. One ring. Two rings. Three, four, five, six, seven, eight. Now it’s quiet. It’s still ringing in here: nine and ten but that’s only in here, in my head. My knees ache from sitting like this. I have to move but most of all I have to pee.

She is sure sleeping hard if she didn’t hear the phone.

I really have to pee.

I move, and the shoe tips back. It makes a noise again but not as loud as the phone. I stop. I listen. She’s still sleeping.

I just have to pee. I open the door a crack. Just a tiny, tiny crack and that didn’t make a noise. I can see her feet. One shoe on. One of her comfortable ones. The other has no shoe. I see her toes through the stocking. They’re pointed and squashed looking. She paints her toe nails, but the paint is cracked and chipped like it was long since she done it. I see a bit of her hand too and I smell beer and vomit through the crack. She’s not waking up. She’s not moving at all, she’s so sleeping. Maybe I can.

I push a little more and the hinges shout and give me away sure. Squeak more if you push slow. All at once is better and I do and it’s open. I see all of her. She does not feel good, I can tell. Dark, and will feel worse when she wakes up. I must keep out of her way then sure.

I am crazy brave but I really have to pee, and I step out, and the blue dress with the cocoa stain which you can hardly see, but she beat me good for anyway, rustles and the floor creaks a little at first, and I stop. Then I tip toe across and I don’t wake her. There’s her other shoe, and now I’m making no noise at all. I step over her arm and into the bathroom.

It feels so good, but makes a noise into the water so I put my hand down to catch it so it doesn’t splash, and it’s warm, but it makes hardly any noise now. There’s no paper. I wipe myself and my hand on a towel. She would kill me if she saw.

I tip toe back and she moves a little. Or did she? I stop everything. If she looks up she’ll know it was me woke her and she’ll be mad sure and come for me.

Maybe she didn’t move, maybe I just imagine the worst. I stand stiller than a chair and look at her face. It’s turned away as if she doesn’t want to look at me even with her eyes closed. It’s dark and looks mad.

I can’t stand here all day. I have to get out of her way. I step over her arm again and tip toe back to the closet.

I close the door quiet and listen. I didn’t wake her and I’m safe still. It feels much better now. Even my knees feel better. Could it have anything to do with peeing? No, I’ve been walking is what did it sure.

The elevator is back for someone else, or bringing someone. It’s bringing someone sure. I heard no doors open and close on our floor. Then I hear feet stepping from the elevator getting closer.

No, that’s the door bell. It’s loud. And again. It’s the school sure. And again. Mom sleeps deep and doesn’t hear, she must have had a lot to drink.

“Mrs. Michael.”

It’s Mr. Dunn come to get me. I recognize his voice. He’s a nice man.

“Mrs. Michael.” And now he bangs on the door too.

He bangs and rings and then I hear his feet walk back to the elevator.

It’s no good for Mr. Dunn to come here. It is an embarrassment she calls it, and she hits me when he’s gone. Now she’s awake for sure and I sit and wait for her to rip open the door and look down at me, huge.

But she doesn’t and I wait and I listen to the cars and to the elevator and to a radio in Mrs. Peterson’s apartment. She likes country music. Her husband used to play, she says. I wait long. She is sure tired, cause she doesn’t wake up.

The elevator comes back and many feet step out. They come for me sure now, to get me to school today.

That’s the bell again. And banging. Mom doesn’t answer. Someone has a key, maybe from the janitor and I hear it turn in the lock. They open the door and I hear them come in and walk all over the room and talk. They better not talk loud, or they’ll wake her up and then, sure, she’ll come for me.

“She’s out cold,” someone says. Not Mr. Dunn.

“Where’s the kid?” someone else not Mr. Dunn says.

They walk around and then the door opens and someone, not mommy, and not Mr. Dunn, but huge is looking in and down at me.

“She’s here,” he says.

“Alice?” That’s Mr. Dunn.

“Alice?” He’s come to the door too, and looks at me. “Come on, Alice,” he says and he gives me his hand, and I take it. I like Mr. Dunn for himself but not for him making mom mad. She will sure get me for this. He helps me out of the closet.

Someone is waking mommy up and putting her on a stretcher. There are many people in here now.

They tuck mommy in good and lift her up. She’s mad sure that I let them all in.

Then they carry her away. Two men with hairy arms both. Mommy doesn’t look at me. She’s so mad at me she asked them pull the sheet over her eyes so she doesn’t have to look at me and Mr. Dunn is saying something to me.

Thoughts? I'd like to hear them.
Ulf Wolf

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