Bottled Up by Jaye Murray Page A

hell was I ever going to clean it? It was like telling a man with no tools to build a house—in one night.
    I felt like I was going to throw up. I tried to push it away by taking a deep breath. My eye was stinging, and even though I was sweating, I was cold.
    I looked for my brother but didn’t see him anywhere. “Mikey? Bugs?”
    I saw his foot. He was hiding under the counter in the back of the garage.
    I bent down and pulled him out from behind the lawn mower. He had snot on his lip, and there was a puddle on the ground where he’d been.
    â€œHe’s in the house, Bugs,” I said.
    He stood up—shaking and crying. “What’s going to happen now?”
    Another one of his crazy questions I couldn’t answer.
    I pulled down the toboggan that was hanging on the wall. I wiped the dust off of it with my hand and put Mikey’s pillow on one end.
    â€œI’m going to clean the garage,” I told him. “And you are going to sleep.”
    â€œI don’t want to.”
    â€œWe’re going to be in here all night, Bugs. So you should just go to sleep.”
    â€œI can help you clean.”
    â€œCome here.” I pushed the sled against the wall and sat on it. He sat next to me.
    â€œI got to do this thing in here. I want you to sleep so I don’t have to carry you to school tomorrow.”
    He stared at me real hard. I wasn’t sure what he was looking at. Then he touched my eye where I’d been hit.
    â€œDoes it hurt?” he asked.
    â€œNot too bad,” I said, and stood up. “Lie down.”
    He put his head on the pillow and shoved his thumb in his mouth. I grabbed a handful of plastic bags out of the box on the counter. The only way I was going to clean the garage was by throwing out a lot of stuff. And I needed to move fast so I could get some sleep too.
    I filled a couple of garbage bags with junk. I didn’t care what I was tossing or whose it was. It wasn’t my problem anymore. The garbagemen could take it all, just like they took my bike when I was a kid.
    â€œPip?”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œYou still keep kryptonite in your pocket?”
    Hiding in the garage, I figured I wasn’t looking too tough to him.
    â€œGo to sleep, Bugs.”
    â€œPip. Come here.”
    I went over to where he was lying. He waved his hand for me to bend over, then took the cape off his neck and shoved it in the back of my T-shirt.
    It was like he was thinking I was some kind of hero.
    Poor kid.
    I took it off and put it on the end of the sled.
    I want to take a nap.
    For about ten years.
    â€œPip?”
    â€œTry to go to sleep, Mikey.”
    â€œWhat about the beasties?” he asked me.
    I was going to tell him again that there was no such thing as beasties.
    But I didn’t want to lie to the kid.
    â€œThey’re sleeping,” I told him. “Now you go to sleep too.”
    I didn’t look back at him while I was cleaning. I tried not to hear him either. I tried not to hear how hard he was sucking on his thumb. I tried not to hear him crying. I just kept throwing stuff in bags. Everything that didn’t look like anything I’d ever care about went: my father’s tools, Christmas decorations, papers, magazines, shelves. It all went.
    I didn’t have a watch on. I had no idea what time it was or how long I’d been throwing stuff out. Before I knew it I’d used the whole box of garbage bags. There had to be twenty-five of them stuffed and piled up next to the door.
    There were some boxes I’d left in the back. They looked like stuff my mother had packed and was saving. I didn’t want to trash anything that might mean something to her.
    I was tired. I was dog-ass tired.
    I sat down next to the sled and caught a look at my brother. He was sleeping with his thumb in his mouth. He can be sort of cute when he’s not shooting his mouth off.
    I took the cape off the sled and put it over him like a