THE IMPOSTER
When the school bus stopped at the corner by the broken wooden fence, Billie carefully slung her backpack over her shoulder and walked off the bus. She crossed the street, and stared with curiosity at the house she was approaching. She noted the cluttered cement garage with the doors that wouldn’t go down, and the basketball hoop with just a few strings hanging from it. She saw bikes strewn about the front yard, and obviously no one had raked in a while. These people are slobs, she thought.
She opened the front door and paused, to let her eyes adjust to the dark interior. She followed a small hallway to the living room; there she stared with disbelief. She had been briefed, of course, but this . . . . There was stuff everywhere. The mismatched couches and chairs were buried under blankets, pillows, clothes, you name it. The coffee table had piles of dirty dishes on it, as well as rubber bands, safety pins, and anything else that was small and insignificant. The ill -fitting pieces of carpet on the floor showed a worn path that ran from the doorway and around the coffee table, to settle at the foot of the couch. The television was surrounded with a moat of video tapes, and the bookcase was cluttered with the cheapest garage sale knick -knacks Billie had ever seen. This was going to be a tough assignment, she thought.
Billie fortunately knew the way; she quickly headed for the stairs to her left. Next to the stairs was a sort of dining area where a plain stocky woman in her 40s sat at a table, looking anxiously through her sweepstakes stamps for the one that said she was a Priority Customer. She wore a sleeveless cotton blouse that accentuated the liver spots on her pasty white arms. Great, she must be Billie’s mother, Billie thought, as she started up the stairs.
The woman at the table was feeling pretty good; she had spent a quiet afternoon writing two long letters to her sisters in Michigan. Quiet afternoons had been rare since her husband died and she had to go to work. She looked up and called out to Billie in a high- pitched childlike voice.
“Hi, Billie Jo! How was school today?”
Billie tensed. This was the tough part, trying to act like the real Billie. How would a 13 -year- old respond to her mother after a long day at school?
“Fine,” Billie said, and continued up the stairs.
At the top Billie opened a door on the left. She had to push to get the door open wide enough to squeeze through, and even then she had to step up onto a pile of clothes to get in. She closed the door behind her and leaned back against it, surveying her bedroom. All the furniture was against the walls, leaving an open area in the middle which was filled with clothes and books, mostly clothes. She sighed. Billie was obviously no better than the rest, she thought. She decided if she was going to be staying here for a few days, she might as well clean it now.
For the next hour or so, Billie sorted through the clothes on the floor, throwing all the things that smelled bad in the hamper and putting the rest in a pile on her bed. Then she folded the clothes on the bed and put them away in her dresser. By the time she was done she had forgotten she was an imposter, so she went downstairs - as the real Billie - for an after- school snack.
Her mother was no longer in the dining area, but she could hear her in Bobby’s room at the bottom of the stairs, yelling at the top of her lungs.
“Look at this slop! What the hell is wrong with you, Bobby? You’re so damn lazy and irresponsible, it makes me want to puke! You’re the man of the house, now, for Christ sake! Why can’t you act like it?”
Billie thought he was lazy and irresponsible, too, but she still felt sorry for him. After all, he was only ten, and her mother’s arms were strong from scrubbing old ladies’ houses all day. Billie sneaked past Bobby’s door, picturing her mother’s red face with its twisted mouth and piercing beady eyes. His door was slightly open and Billie could see the shadow of her mother’s shaking body on his wall, leaning forward for an attack, but for some reason holding back. Billie knew her mother probably wouldn’t last long, so she went past the dining area, through the kitchen, and out the back door.
Billie felt a surge of energy fill her limbs. She began to jog around the house and garage, but soon sped up until she was moving her legs as fast as they would go. She felt like she was a car, or a motorcycle, with the wind flying past her and her feet barely touching the ground. She wanted to keep going, down the road to the highway, to race those big trucks that always scare her when they rumble by. Finally she slowed, then stopped, gasping for air. Her legs were exhausted, but the energy was still there.
Billie spent the rest of the afternoon in the backyard. She was with an exiled prince who said he loved her and wished she could come with him. He was always on the move from spies and people who wanted to kidnap him for ransom. They held hands as they walked through the yard and sat beneath the willow tree, talking about all the exciting things he’d seen and done. As the sun began to fade, he said he had to go, but he promised he would be back. He slowly leaned toward her. Billie closed her eyes and leaned forward, her lips stretching out toward him . . .
“Billie and a gho- ost, sittin’ in a tree, K- I -S- S- I -N -G!”
Billie jumped up, her face red. Bobby ran away, laughing and singing the Wedding March. Fury replaced embarrassment, and Billie chased after him. She felt her feet pounding on the hard earth, and her arms ached to pound like that, too. She caught up with him near the garage and pushed him with all her momentum. He fell hard and began to cry, burying his face in the dirt. Billie stood over him, staring at his small body shaking; she wanted to comfort him, but didn’t know how. She felt guilty, but she didn’t know what to do with guilt. So she yelled at him.
“You asked for it! Stop crying, you big baby, and get up. We have to go in and eat now, anyway.” Billie felt uncomfortable just standing there, so finally she turned and started walking toward the house. She felt big and mean, and confused because she didn’t like feeling that way. She wondered if maybe her mother didn’t like being big and mean, either; maybe . . .
“You’re in big trouble, now, Billie! I’m going to tell Mom!”
Before Billie could respond Bobby ran past her, with his jaw clenched and his fists pumping their way through the heavy air. Billie told herself she didn’t care; her mom would probably yell at him for bothering her.
When she walked in the house her mother was standing by the door waiting; Bobby stood back in the shadows looking worried.
“What do I have to do to get you to act your age, Billie? Goddam 13- year- old, and still getting in fights! You’re too big to be hitting a little boy half your size! Get over here! Stop standing there sniveling like a little baby!”
Billie felt the usual defiance swell in her chest. Only this time a little worked its way up before the fear could squeeze it into a tiny ball.
“Why should I? You’re just going to hit me anyway.”
She looked at her mother’s face and the fear took over. Her mother lunged toward her, but Billie ran past and up the stairs. With every step she thought Go back! Go back! You’re just making it worse! She could hear her mother yelling right behind her, but she shut out the words. She ran into her bedroom and slammed the door. She locked the door and leaned against it with her whole body. Her mother was right outside.
Her mother couldn’t stop the energy that was consuming her. She felt like she was losing control of her children and herself. All she could think was she had to show them who’s in charge; she couldn’t let them see her weaknesses at any cost.
“You goddam lazy bastard! Get the hell out here right now! You open this door or I’ll beat it down! How dare you run away from me!”
Billie thought desperately. She thought of those TV shows where the kid would say I love you or something, and the parents would melt and cry, and everything would be okay.
“Mom, just listen! I’m sorry! I love you. Please!” Billie began to cry as she realized she meant it.
“I love you, Mom!”
But her mother just kept pounding on the door, unable to hear her daughter’s words over her own.
“I’ll beat the hell out of you when I get a hold of you! God damn shittin’ lazy bastard!”
Suddenly Billie straightened. The tears looked out-of-place on her cheeks. “Billie” had retreated and her imposter took over. Well, this is what I came for, she thought. She squared her shoulders and slowly unlocked the door.
