“Yep,” he said.
“So this is where you grew up,” I mused glancing back at the house. His mother’s house was
faced with red brick and had an aluminum door with a ripped screen and cracked window in front
of a windowless brown door. The porch roof looked like it was going to come crashing down on the
cement stoop at any second. The front yard had mismatched chairs strewn, broken or lying on
their sides, and bottles appeared among the overgrown grass.
“No. The place my mom and I lived in was a lot worse than this,” he said. “The city had it
torn down a couple years ago.”
Cameron was gazing at me nervously.
“Well,” I encouraged, “are we going in or are we just going to sit here?”
Cameron sighed, let go of my out-squeezed hand, and stepped out of the Audi. I met him on the
sidewalk, where he quickly picked up my hand once more. We strolled in tandem down the walkway,
stepping over trash, and finally came to a stop at the front door. With one immense inhalation
and a last anxious glance at me, Cameron knocked on the door. We could hear the television
playing in the background. When no one came, he knocked again.
We waited for a minute, but still nothing happened. Cameron heaved another sigh, screeched open
the aluminum door, and pushed on the windowless front door. He peered inside first and, with his
hand protectively on the small of my back, guided me in.
The smell of mold and tobacco hit my nose as soon as I walked in, but I continued to maintain my
self-possession. There were hoards of junk piled in the hallway and on the stairs that led to a
second story. The pink wallpaper in the hall was yellowed and peeling off in spots, and the
dirty greenish carpet was speckled with cigarette burns. I jumped when a cat leapt up from
behind the pile of laundry that was on the floor.
Cameron put his arm around my shoulders. I could see that he was embarrassed to have me there. I
smiled my most supportive smile at him, but I wasn’t sure if he bought it.
We walked into the living room, where two little girls and a boy were sitting side by side on
the couch, watching cartoons on TV. They looked so tiny on that big couch. One of the blond
girls had mad knots in her threaded hair. Their bare feet were dirty and their eyes looked
almost wild as they watched us walk in. I noticed that the little boy had Cameron’s same dark
eyes.
“Where’s your mother?” Cameron asked them abruptly.
The bigger of the little girls expressionlessly pointed toward a doorway.
We continued past the children and walked into the kitchen where a cloud of cigarette smoke hung
in the air. Half of the cupboard doors were either hanging off one hinge or missing. There was a
pile of dishes stacked in and around the sink and dirty pots on top of the encrusted stove and
counters. The floor crunched as we stepped on leftover foodstuff.
A lady was sitting alone at the kitchen table, with a large plastic glass half-full of beer in
front of her, two empty beer bottles next to that, and a cigarette left burning in an
overflowing ashtray. She lifted her head and peered at Cameron as we walked in. The sound of the
television in the background was met by the leaky kitchen faucet dripping water. We quietly
stood there while the lady took a puff of her cigarette and looked lost in thought.
She sneered when she finally recognized Cameron. “What the hell are you doing here?” she
croaked at him. “And who the hell are you?” she said, turning to me.
“Mom, this is Emmy … Emily,” he corrected himself nervously. I smiled at her.
“You brought a girl with you. That’s a first.” With her cigarette hanging on her bottom lip,
Cameron’s mom strutted over to us and put her hand on my shoulder, directing me to sit at the
table. “It must be pretty serious for my boy to bring you here. He’s usually too proud to
introduce me to any of his friends—apparently he’s too good for his own mother.”
Cameron’s mother took her seat again, and Cameron yanked out a chair for himself.
“Can I get you kids anything to eat?” she asked, sweetly.
“No, we’re fine,” Cameron quickly answered for the both of us.