Free Buried by Robin Merrow MacCready

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Dear Mom,
    I never told you about the time I wet the bed. I was about seven years old, and the police had been at the trailer that night because of a noise complaint. When they came, I didn’t know it was the police. There were no sirens or blinking lights. I just remember how the party noise changed from laughter and fun in the living room to swearing and bottles being gathered up and the stereo being turned low. I opened my bedroom door a crack to see what was going on, and two big guys in uniforms were in the middle of the living room. They were so clean. Not a wrinkle or a speck of dirt on either of them; their buttons and badges and shoes were so shiny. One turned around and tipped his hat at me. I shut my door and ran back into bed. A few minutes later my door opened and he stood there in the doorway. He didn’t move, and he didn’t say anything. I didn’t either. I just lay still as a statue, holding my breath, quiet as a rabbit. As soon as he shut the door, I let out a huge breath and flooded the bed with pee I didn’t know I’d been holding. I was surprised by the heat of it, and then surprised by the coolness of it when I threw off the covers to see what I’d done.
    Later, when I heard the car doors slamming and your bedroom door shut, I carried my sheets and pajamas out to the backyard and dug a hole and buried them.
    I never told anyone. Not you, not Liz. Nobody.
    I’ve been holding that in for a long time.
    â€”Claudine

6
    THE FIRST THING THAT ANNOYED ME Saturday morning was the sloppy stacks of magazines on the coffee table. It was a mess again, and I had vowed to keep it neat and organized. The whole place could use some help,
    I thought. I started with the oven. It had brown stains from cooking French fries and fish. I moistened some steel wool and got it soapy. On my knees I scrubbed until the speckled pattern showed once again. I wiped it clean. It gleamed.
    Once, when Mom and Linwood had a bunch of friends over to party, she’d told them that I was her maid. I think I was around seven years old.
    â€œLook—I got her trained,” Mom said, throwing a handful of chips on the floor. I rushed over and picked them up and put them on the table like it was a big emergency. Everyone cracked up. I smiled a little. I was a good girl, and they could see that.
    I started to walk away, but then Candy tipped over her beer. I ran to the sink and got a roll of paper towels, knelt down, and mopped it up while they laughed over me.
    An ashtray dropped beside the beer. “See if she’ll take care of that,” someone said.
    â€œNo doubt,” Mom said. “She can’t let anything go. She’s a regular Heloise.”
    They roared as the ashes dissolved in the watery mess. I worked as fast as I could, but one by one, the rest of the group added to the pile until I had a mound of beer, pizza crusts, chips, butts, and soda. I kept my mind on the task. If I sniffed, they’d know I was crying, so I let my snot drip onto the mess. I kept my head down and blocked them out. Eyes on the floor, I told myself. Eyes on the floor. I got the broom and silently loaded the whole pile onto a pizza carton. By the time I spilled it into the garbage can, the laughing had stopped and an eerie silence filled the room.
    â€œWeird,” someone said.
    â€œShe’s always been like this.” Mom leaned toward me. “You can’t stand the clutter, right, baby angel?”
    I kept my head down to hide my running nose.
    â€œCandy, you wanna borrow her?” Mom asked.
    â€œNo thanks, Serena. She’s a little twisted.”
    â€œHey, watch it. I love her.” Mom grabbed my arm and pulled me to her. “Right, Princess?” My wet face was buried in her dark, wavy hair. It smelled of her vanilla musk and cigarette smoke. She squeezed me hard, and I stiffened. I wiped the snot from her hair and went to my room for the rest of the night.
    I