Free The Flowers by Dagoberto Gilb

off. When I’d finished sweeping, he went back to what he was doing before, which was sitting there, his hands back in his lap, fingers laced, gazing at the beyond in front of him.
    In the bedroom that wasn’t mine I listened for Nica’s voice in all those voices up there—mostly her dad’s came through. I was also having to hear my mom and the Cloyd arguing just a little too loud on the other side of the door. I probably was relieved that they were. It meant I could count the money I had hidden. Bueno, okay, look: The truth is that when I snuck into thosehouses, sometimes I took money away. At first it was only the change, especially if I saw dimes and quarters. Then I smarted up and checked only for bills. A dollar, a five, a ten, any of them could be sitting around, folded, piled, like forgotten or nothing to them, or in a drawer or a box under the bed. The worst time was that girl’s house. Yeah, I did what I said before, I did that. But in her parents’ bedroom, in a small drawer, I found an envelope with twenties, coming out to $200. You know? Most of the time I thought nobody’d notice, because—I dunno, but that was so much it’s what got me scared. I also started taking from my mom or my sister if I saw it around, or when I decided to look inside their purse. Only a few dollars. I stopped that too, I didn’t like doing it. At first, yeah, I spent it. That’s what I thought I took it for. Even then I wouldn’t spend very much. I’d go out and buy like a half-gallon square of chocolate ice cream. But then I made a decision to save this money, to use it right. Also because stealing made me feel shitty, and I didn’t like that part much. So it seemed better that if I wasn’t wasting it, if it wasn’t exactly gone, just put away for necessary things, it wasn’t as bad. When I’d collected small bills, I’d go over to a store and exchange the little ones into a twenty, and then I’d put it in this envelope with the others. Anyways, once in a while I liked to see it and count it, and this seemed like a good time for that. It was, I thought, hidden in a good place—I’d pulled up the bedroom carpet in the corner, next to where the bookcase was, and put it there and it didn’t bulge out. I don’t know why I liked to get it out and count it sometimes, but I did. It was a thick stack, and it now was up to $249. Probably there’s some explanation I couldn’t think of for wanting to do the counting. Probably I looked right then because I’d just taken $6 from Cloyd, and I’d put it away fast a couple of days ago. It was sitting there in his truck, on the bench seat, almost lost in a pile of receipts and fast food trash. Like he didn’t care about it. To me. That was just the other day.I hadn’t thought about it much since, but while they were being loud at each other, I guess it got me to remembering what I did.
    I could tell by the tone of the footsteps outside my door that they were headed at me. I stabbed the money under the pillow fast when my mom walked in.
    â€œI want to sit with you for a minute,” she said.
    â€œWhy?” I said.
    â€œI just want to. Dame un minuto, one, please.”
    â€œWhy, though?”
    â€œBecause I need to.”
    â€œAre you okay?”
    â€œNo. Yeah. No.” She laughed.
    â€œI don’t know what to do,” I said.
    â€œNothing you can do, nothing. Only I can.”
    â€œWhat is it?”
    â€œDo you know that he cares about toilet paper?”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œHe cares about toilet paper. How much is used.”
    â€œYou mean. … ?”
    â€œYes, when you make a coo-coo.”
    I started to laugh really hard. She did too. “En serio, he means this. I don’t think I ever knew anything like this.” I’m laughing, happy about my mom. “Like four squares. Algo así.” She was laughing really hard too.