Eagleburger: December 2011

Jesse looked up, eyes pleading, at his mother. She dished scalloped potatoes to Ron, his kid brother, then turned her head and said, “I think it’s a great idea. You’re plenty mature enough, and you’ve been asking for more allowance.” “I wanted a raise in my allowance.” “And instead you’ve got a job.”

Mrs. Viscetti picked him up in her black Escalade at 5:30. He’d stuffed two grilled cheese and swallowed half the bowl of tomato soup his mother had made just as the doorbell rang. Then he sat glued to the chair. “If I don’t answer, maybe she’ll get another neighbor kid to do this,” he thought to himself. Ron giggled and spit a mouthful of potato onto his bib. “Gross,” Jesse thought.

“Jesse, Veronica is here!”

Jesse grabbed his backpack, weighted down with his algebra homework, and slouched next to his mother. She absently patted and fingered his hair as she made small talk with the short, dark haired woman in the doorway. Jesse could smell old smoke and heady perfume on the furs that Mrs. Viscetti had draped in layers on her small frame. She looked like a child dressed like a bear, dressed like a socialite.

In the car, Mrs. Viscetti rolled down all the windows and sucked hard on a cigarette. “Smoke?” she offered him the pack. Jesse took the pack, opened it, then placed it back on the console between them. “Uh. No thanks.” He chewed on his upper lip. “So, Charlotte must be in second grade now?” Mrs. Viscetti coughed loudly, the car veering sharply into the oncoming lane for a moment before she swore, flung the half cigarette out the windo, and righted the car. “Oh yes, she’s the star of her class. Very bright, very bright. For a little one, that is. Takes after her father so much.” She made a grimace into the vanity mirror attached to the visor and applied another layer of lipstick to her already coated lips. “You’ll have so much fun with her.”

The Viscetti house was in a gated community only a few miles from Jesse’s house. He used to come over to play with the Viscetti’s older son, Carlo. That was all before Carlo disappeared when they were both eight. In the six years since, Mrs. Viscetti and Jesse’s mom still met for lunch at least once a month, and their fathers would chat at Jesse’s baseball games. That’s how Jesse and Carlo first met, at a little league clinic. Even now, Jesse remembered the huge basement that opened onto a backyard that at the time was paradise. It had great trees for climbing, tall privacy hedges, a pool house, and a rose garden that put those in his mother’s Home and Garden magazines to shame.

“Thank you so much for being available on short notice, dear.” Mrs. Viscetti stayed in the car as Jesse unloaded and stood at the top of the circular driveway, the house, brightly lit from the outside, looming over him. Jesse barely had the door shut before the SUV sped away, bouncing as it ran over a bicycle in the driveway. He shrugged his backpack over one shoulder and opened the front door.

“Hi. Hi. I’m Charlotte.” The chubby girl in butterfly patterned footie pajamas stood up straight in the entryway.

“I’m Jesse, your” “BABYSITTER!” Charlotte interrupted him, squealing, then ran at him, nearly knocking Jesse out the door as she threw her arms around his legs and buried her face in his belly. “Mmp thlo hpffe tboo …” Jesse pushed at her shoulders and she kept speaking as her mouth moved away from the fabric. “have you here! Let’s play. Let’s, um, let’s play, um,” Charlotte let go of Jesse’s legs and looked around the room. “Um, let’s play house and I’m the mommy and you’re my husband and, uh …”

Jesse watched Charlotte dash off into one or another of the many rooms, then put his coat and backpack next to the door on top of a pile of shoes. “Hello?” He made a half-hearted call out to Charlotte, then walked into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. He knelt down and pushed aside cans of diet soda and lime sparkling water, until he found a can of Mountain Dew lying on its side. He briefly considered the can of Miller next to it, then stood. One hand on the door, he stopped.

The can of Dew dropped to the ground and began to hiss from the puncture, misting soda onto his pant legs. Taped to a take out box was a note. Jesse pulled it off, rubbed his eyes and shut the fridge door.

“Heeyyyy Jesseeeeee! Come find me!” He heard Charlotte wail with glee from somewhere upstairs. He put the note in his back pocket and reached for the phone on the breakfast nook. With jittery hands, he dialed home. After the second ring, he nearly hung up, but then the line answered.

“Mom.” “Jesse, shouldn’t you be taking care of Charlotte? The Viscetti’s are expecting a lot from you!” “But mom, there’s a problem” “Good god Jesse, she’s a child. Play some games, give her a little snack, and make sure she brushes her teeth before bedtime.” “What if Mrs. Viscetti left weird instructions?” He could hear her gasp and yell at Ron to get his hands out of his mouth. “You’re a grown boy, Jess, just do your job. If Veronica wants something done, she probably has a good reason for it. Some of your friends would probably think we do things weird around our house too.”

Jesse pulled the note back out of his pocket and re-read it. He took a deep breath. “Mom, it’s really weird though. She wants me to…” “Jesse, go babysit.” “Mom!"
She’d hung up. He looked at the note again.

“Hi Jesse! Help yourself to anything in the fridge. Please make sure Charlotte is dead before 10pm. No late TV!! (P.S. You can watch all the TV you want) – Veronica and Carl V.”