Three Little Words by Ashley Rhodes-Courter Page B

girls’ side and do what I said.” I was barefoot and the patio was hot, so I hurried to where the boys were swatting a beach ball with some branches. “I’m a disgusting pig and p-p-pissed myself.”
    Toby stopped in mid-swing and gaped. Mitchell started to laugh, but one look from Toby shut him up.
    I proceeded to the girls’ side. Heather giggled. “Ah, you look so cute!”
    Mandy said, “Go back inside.” Her voice wobbled as if she was about to cry. One minute the kids would turn on one another; other times we would rally because each knew what it felt like to be the victim of the day.
    Unfortunately, Luke never learned to lie low. A favorite trick of his was putting the time-out trash can on his head, then blindly knocking into walls. If he had to stand in the corner, he would jump up and down making farting noises or keep turning around until the time increased. He was trapped in a cycle of acting out and punishment.
    We got so dirty playing outside all day that we bathed nightly. After filling the tub with no more than six inches of water, Mandy and I bathed the babies; then it progressed until the oldest was finished, with everyone sharing the same water. I didn’t mind washing a little boy named Brandon because he never fussed. One night I removed his diaper while he held the tub’s rim. As I lifted him into the water, something warm slipped down my leg. When I realized what had happened, I giggled.
    “What’s going on?” Mrs. Moss called from the living room.
    “Brandon peed all over me!”
    Mrs. Moss began to laugh. It was our first humorous interaction. For that brief second I thought she was starting to like me.
    Warm water often caused Clare to have a bowel movement, yet no matter how gross the water, Mandy and I would still have to get in it later. If the stools were firm, I could usually fish them out with a cup and flush them down the toilet, but I never knew if the babies peed. If the meager layer of bathwater was filthy, I would try to get away with a quick rinse; but if Mrs. Moss did not think I had washed myself thoroughly, she dragged me back into the bath and scrubbed me so hard with a bristle brush that it sometimes scraped off my skin.
    Luke hated baths. When he refused to get in the tub, Mrs. Moss would wash him roughly with a cloth, pour shampoo on his head, and then dunk him to rinse it off. The more he sputtered, the longer she held him under. I could not see what was happening, but I heard him screaming in terror.
    At the end of July, Miles Ferris visited Luke and me at the Moss home. We wore our best clothes, and Mrs. Moss shooed the others outside. Mr. Ferris gave us gifts from our mother, including candy, school clothing and supplies, plus backpacks.
    “I’ve enrolled Luke in Head Start,” Mrs. Moss said, sounding like the most responsible parent ever. “He could use the extra attention.” Mr. Ferris gestured toward me. “She’s my big helper.”
    He raised his eyebrows so high, he looked startled. “Any issues?”
    “All children have their moments …”
    I was relieved that she did not mention that I now wet my bed nightly.
    They talked over our heads as though we could not comprehend their shorthand, but I heard enough to figure out that my mother had not fulfilled the requirements to get us back yet. Adele had called to tell Mr. Ferris that my mother was “on the street.” Mrs. Moss sighed in a way that made me worry that my mother did not have a place to live.
    “She still wants the girl,” he said.
    Mrs. Moss pretended to be concerned about our future. “What about the boy?”
    “Those relatives of his expect me to start the paperwork all over!”
    “They’re full of demands, aren’t they?” Mrs. Moss shook her head as though she sympathized with all the trouble he went through that nobody appreciated.
    But I was hung up on the idea that our relatives still wanted us. I thought of Adele wistfully. She had loved me almost as much as my mother had. I would