Court of the Myrtles Read Online Free PDF Page B

Joy pretended she didn’t know what the pigtail girl was talking about for a while before casually admitting, “Oh her? Yup, that’s my mommy.” She tried to ignore the stifled snickers. Instead she focused on the ritual of mounting the Everest of steep black steps onto the bus, the tightrope walk down the center aisle and the grateful safety of a vinyl-ripped seat. Once snuggled into the window side of the school bus, she placedher Casper the Ghost lunchbox onto her lap, opening and shutting the little metal latch, clickity-clack, as Casper’s face reassured her with his half-moon smile.
    Joy was happy to be as invisible as Casper the Ghost at school. She was used to it, after all, barely having an identity at home. Every morning she reflected that she didn’t even have a slot in the toothbrush holder. It only held four. One for Alice, one for her dad, and the back slots for two of her three older brothers. The rubber shoe mat at the front door only handled three pairs at a time and no matter how many attempts Joy made at maneuvering her Mary Jane’s alongside her father’s black wing tips, her brothers’ muddy sneakers would somehow always edge them out.
    After school, Joy would return home to find her father was sitting comatose, staring at the television commercials. Today it was Folgers. “Instant Folgers tastes good as fresh perked” explained the overly enthusiastic 1960s housewife in floral apron and house-dress.
    Joy ran her fingers along her father’s barker lounger and asked, “Want to watch me do cartwheels in the yard?”
    â€œCan’t,” he’d say. “I’m busy.” And then he returned his gaze to the Calgon woman in the pink bubble bath: the one who wanted to have him “take me away.”
    Joy turned to wander off singing to the tune for Slinky. “What walks the stair without a care, and makes the happiest sound, runs up and down just like a clown, everyone knows, it’s Slinky. It’s Slinky, it’s Slinky for fun it’s a wonderful toy; It’s Slinky, it’s Slinky, a favorite of girls and boys…”
    â€œQuiet down!” her father hollered, as Joy stared longingly into the eyes of the Madonna statues that graced the hissing radiators. The Blessed Mary with the rosary beads had a chip on her big toe.
    Piles of knitting, unfolded laundry and stacks of clipped coupons from old newspapers consumed all the sofa cushions. Nowhere to sit. But she didn’t feel like sitting today anyway. Slipping quietly down the hall, past the glassy-eyed deer head hanging on the wall—a gift to her father from the Elks Club for helping them with a burglary—Joy made her way into the tiny cramped kitchen. She ignored the dried spaghetti dishes piled in the sink, she ignored everything, for today Joy was on a mission—she headed for the pantry shelves. Her hand blindly groped for the package, the sound of the crinkling cellophane competed with the soap opera voice on the television as her fingers closed around it. Got it!
    She squeezed down between the laundry basket and the cases of Pepsi. And there, safely tucked in her little nook, Joy discovered the comfort of Oreo cookies. They made their way to her mouth, her tummy—and eventually to her hips, thighs and waistline. And to her heart. The delayed gratification of separating the chocolate outer from the crème was out of the question. She inhaled them. She needed love and she needed it now.
    Ten minutes and five cookies later, with two nestled in her palm for safe keeping, she washed the last crumbs down her throat with Zarex, not a hero from Greek mythology, but a sugary juice drink with the funny-looking zebra on the label. She imagined what it might be like to see a real zebra at the Franklin Park zoo and just
knew
this might finally be the Sunday her mother kept promising to take her there. But in the meantime, she had the next best thing. Her