Free Everything Is Fine. by Ann Dee Ellis Page B

room at our
     house and that was fine and everything, but Ted had a new job and it was not easy to get work off and to lose all that money.
    “Oh,” said Mom.
    I think Norma was there too.
    The Deans.
    I don’t remember if Mr. Grobin was there but I don’t think he was.
    My old best friends.
    And then a whole bunch of people from the church and from Mom’s art classes.
    Dad’s people were there too. His boss named Jerry who told me once that my face was a pumpkin, some other sports guys and
     three football players who played for the Skins. Dad was excited about that. “They didn’t need to come all that way.”
    The whole church was full.
    Dad had his TV voice when he gave his talk.
    At the end he said this: “I love my wife. I love my daughters.” It was the first time his voice broke. He cleared his throat.
     “This is what God intended. It was Olivia’s time. Even though we weren’t ready for it, my family will get through this.”
    Everyone nodded. Cried. Whispered.
    I just sat and so did Mom.
    Afterward, we stood and shook people’s hands.
    I didn’t know that was how funerals worked.
    B OX O LIVIA WAS IN : pencil on paper

SMASHED
    Afterward at our house, people were everywhere.
    Dad had hired a cleaning lady and got a caterer and we had too much food because people brought stuff anyway.
    In the family room, I was sitting in the corner on the couch.
    There were voices and ladies in black and fat men and people laughing and some kids running around. I sat and watched the
     shoes.
    Then one pair of brown shoes with a buckle said, “Why not an open casket?”
    The other pair, high heels, black, said, “Are you kidding? She was all smashed up. It was horrific.”
    The other: “Really? It was that bad?”
    Black shoes: “Umm, yeah. Believe me, there was no possibility of an open casket.”
    Smashed up.
    I closed my eyes.
MOM?
    I put my hand on the door.
    “Mom? Please open the door.”
    I hear a muffled sound. Her voice.
    Then I remember the screwdriver.
    Once when Mom was in a lesson, Olivia had locked herself in the bathroom.
    She wouldn’t open the door and Dad was at work and I couldn’t get Olivia out.
    I didn’t want to tell Mom so I tried everything. A credit card like on TV, a butter knife, a hammer, a piece of paper.
    Nothing worked and Olivia was crying. Finally, I got a screwdriver and put it in the lock and it twisted for about three minutes.
     Something clicked.
    I pushed open the door and there was Olivia — tear-streaked face and her dark curls plastered to her head.
    I never told Mom about that. I didn’t want her to know because I was really watching TV when I was supposed to be watching
     Olivia.
    I was always in charge of her and I was always messing up.
    But at least this mess-up lets me get in to Mom.
MIRACLES
    When Mom was pregnant, she always peed.
    One time at dinner, Mom had to go to the bathroom three times.
    At the movies, four times.
    Dad called her Miss Piss.
    “Oh, there’s my Miss Piss.”
    Mom would throw a pillow at him and I’d write Miss Piss in my notebook.
    My teacher said, “What’s Miss Piss?”
    “My mom. She pees all the time.”
    Teacher looked at me funny. “Did you just say what I think you said?”
    But I’d be coloring or doing my handwriting and not caring what she said.
    We were all very happy because they had to do operations to get Mom pregnant, but it worked. Olivia was a miracle.
    “You were a miracle too,” Dad said.
    “I was?”
    “Yeah,” he said. “You and Olivia are both our miracles.”
    “Good,” I said.
    At home Mom would be laughing and singing and Dad would come home early.
    Mom was going to make the art room the nursery, but I said, “She should sleep in my room.”
    “Baby, you don’t want a newborn in with you.”
    “Yes, I do.”
    And I did.
    So my room was the nursery, and me and Mom found all sorts of cool things to paint and do to my room.
SONG
    There’s this one song:
If a thing is hard to do, I’ll not sit