Page 7 of His Big Bad Stick

The fridge is dark.

I try every light switch in the apartment.

Nothing turns on.

I glance at the messy dining room table.

Stacked with bills and random boxes of stuff.

My favorite is the box of specialty vitamins that Mom tried to sell about a year ago. One of those not-a-scheme ordeals where you sell these magical vitamins and then get other people to sell them as you build a team to make money.

Mom made me take those vitamins.

They gave me diarrhea. I had to spend a night in the hospital to get fluids back in me.

She lovingly asked why I have to ruin everything enjoyable in her life.

Thanks, Mom.

I shuffle through the stack of bills and see the words FINAL NOTICE in big, red letters. On our electric bill.

“Fuck,” I groan.

I run back to my bedroom and find a folder of finances.

That’s what I call it.

The Folder of Finances.

As though I’m some fancy person with a finance degree.

I try to manage the bills the best I can.

I paint canvases and try to sell them.

When the cops don’t chase me away, I do caricatures.

For free… but tips are welcome.

I have a list of our bills and…

“Fuckity-fuck,” I whisper.

I forgot to put down for the electric.

We were behind but not enough to get it shutoff.

Mom got a speeding ticket last month and that threw off all my numbers.

I look over at my painting - with half a serene sky painted, the other just boring, white, dull. Non-existent.

Fitting for this moment.

But now I have to wait for Mom to get home and tell her we have no electricity.

She’ll either laugh and drag me to a friend’s house to stay…

Or she’ll blame me and I’ll get told all the reasons and ways I’ve fucked up her life.

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