The Crumb Universe

“There are several pretzel universes under here.  You really should check them out.”

Mickey stares out of my bedroom window but says nothing.  It’s easier to study the collection of objects on the floor rather than crane my neck to look up at him and make faces and try to get him to talk or smile back at me.  Besides, I see hair elastics, a slap on watch that Ally bought me, and a novel I checked out months ago from the school library.  The crumbs down here orbit around all this forgotten junk.  And the crumbs look a lot like stars except no one has bothered to name them.

“Do you think there’s a pattern to all this?” I ask.

“Food draws ants Einstein,” Big Sister says.  “And ants change the position of all of your crumb constellations.”

“Don’t you think we’re missing out on the universe right underneath our feet?  I can see it being formed,” I say.

Big Sister sits down next to me and tilts her head. She seems to study the way the crumbs are scattered around the sea of stuff.  I think she gets everything I’ve said and we’re okay and then she says, “Do you know you’re lying in a puddle of Clorox?”

I study the constellation more and look for signs that maybe she’s right.  I blow at the ant food and watch it float around my head.  If I ignore Big Sister long enough she usually goes away and maybe what she just said about the Clorox isn’t really true and it will go away too.  I focus on how the constellation of old pita chips sparkle.  Mickey still doesn’t say anything and he looks almost two dimensional, like he’s a shadow. 

“Your boyfriend isn’t here,” Big Sister says. 

This time I have to work harder to ignore her and so I imagine Mickey and I become the size of ants, and I show him the universe that exists in the grout between the big white tiles.

“Fairies ride a little rough this last time?” Big Sister asks.

Her voice booms in my ant sized ears.

“Why don’t you find your own boyfriend?”

I try to forget Big Sister is even there and it’s quiet.  But my head screams.

When my bedroom door opens and soft fingertips touch my face, I lean into those fingers.  “I’m not an ant anymore,” I say.  “I’m sorry about the fairies and the boys and I’ll try hard to be the best girl ever.”  And then I reach up and grasp fine strands of hair that pull away as fast as my fingers latch on.  I hear a shriek.

“Mom!” Thom yells.  “Emily’s sick again.”

I remember what happened at prom and all the things Aunt Ally said after that.

“Got any fairy dust to lift me up off this floor?”

“There’s only you,” Big Sister says.

My aunt pushes a cold glass of milk into my hands and she stares at that milk as if her eyes have the power to make me guzzle all of it down.  “I’ll buy you new clothes with as many holes as you want,” she says.  But I am already gone.  I am back at South Side sitting across from Mickey.

“What’s wrong with it?” He asks.

“I don't taste anything but cold.”

“Are you hot?”

I nod.

“Then drink up,” he says.