Free Anything You Want by Geoff Herbach

the kitchen.
    â€œThat clock has never been right,” he said. “Not since we moved in.”
    â€œYeah, man,” I said. “I just noticed! I reset the time before I set the timer.”
    â€œIt’s bothered me for like a year,” he said.
    â€œReally? Why didn’t you fix the bugger?” I asked.
    He stared at me for a moment as if I had two heads. “I take care of you, not me,” he said and went downstairs.
    â€œOh,” I said to the place where Darius had been standing.
    I stumbled down the hall into the suite, fell into bed, and fell asleep. Like totally fell, dingus. Like off a cliff. Morning came like hitting the damn canyon floor.
    Maggie went out of her mind when the stove buzzer fired up in the kitchen.
    She shot out of bed. “What time is it?”
    â€œSeven, baby doll,” I whispered. “We got a full hour and ten to get to first period.”
    â€œJesus, Taco! Why didn’t you wake me up? I can’t go to school like a dirt ball again. I have to shower and blow-dry my hair. I hate it when my hair’s wet. Everybody looks at you like you’re a skeez if your hair’s wet!”
    â€œA what?” I asked, still groggy.
    Maggie ran into the suite’s throne room. “Where the hell’s the shower? Didn’t I see a shower in here before?” she screamed. “You don’t have a shower?”
    â€œIt’s in the bathroom in the hall. You might want to turn it down a couple decibels because Darius worked late and he can’t find the sandman too easy after slinging fish for eight straight. Know what I mean?”
    Maggie charged past me into the hall. I slid out of bed and followed. She stood in the middle of the bathroom, staring down at the toilet and the bathtub. She acted appalled.
    And I was a little pissed! As if having a private throne room inside your own bedroom isn’t fancy enough. Like there should by definition be a shower in every bathroom. As if the shared shower in the hall (only shared with Darius!) was like having to take a shower at the damn zoo.
    â€œDo you even have clean towels?” Maggie cried.
    â€œWhoa, lady. Hold on. I do laundry twice a week,” I said. “Of course there are clean towels.” I pride myself on my fresh spring breeze fragrance, pal.
    â€œWell, show me how the shower works. Show me where the soap is. Give me a clean towel. I don’t have any time!”
    Man, did my sweet Maggie blow her top when she found out I don’t own a hair dryer. “I would’ve brought Mary’s if I thought you didn’t have one!” She was en fuego ! (I learned that in Spanish class.)
    We did finally get to school though. I did some birdie-whacking in gym to work out my anguish. And by English, Maggie had chilled out too. I guess her hair was finally dry, which helped. In the doorway to the classroom, she kissed me and whispered, “Thanks for taking care of me.”
    Yes! That’s Taco, taking care of business.
    In English, I couldn’t concentrate, so I started writing lists. When Mom was super sick, she made lists that she’d give Darius (and sometimes me). She told us that writing out her responsibilities and then fulfilling her responsibilities was how she acted like an adult, how she took care of her kids and her business, and because she couldn’t be the adult because of her pain and exhaustion and lack of ability to breathe, we had to do it for her (mostly Darius). So I wrote out a list because I wanted to be an adult, wanted to take care of my wife. (Well, really girlfriend, but weren’t we acting married with her living in my house?)
    1. Buy hair dryer.
    2. Wake Maggie early as hell.
    3. Install shower in suite. (Build an addition to house?)
    4. Get job to earn money to buy hair dryer, alarm clock, and build addition to house.
    I felt pretty good. Like I knew what I was up against and I had a plan to get the job done. When the bell