I Live in Your Basement

“‘Don’t do that. You’ll poke your eye out.’ That’s what my mom says. No
matter what I’m doing.”

I told that to my friend Jeremy Goodman as we trotted to the playground
behind our school.

Jeremy laughed. “Your mom really says that, Marco?”

I nodded and picked up the pace, keeping side by side with Jeremy as we
crossed Fulton Street.

“Last night, I had a lot of homework,” I told him. “I took out three new
pencils and started to sharpen them. My mom came into the room and said, ‘Don’t
do that. You’ll poke your eye out.’”

Jeremy laughed again. “What does she want you to use? Crayons?”

I didn’t laugh. It wasn’t funny to me. I’m twelve years old, and my mom
treats me like some kind of baby.

She’s always warning me about
everything
I do.

“Don’t climb that tree. You’ll break your neck.”

“Don’t fill the bathtub so full. You’ll drown.”

“Don’t eat so fast. You’ll choke.”

She has a warning about
everything!
I keep expecting her to say,
“Marco, don’t breathe so much. You’ll break your nose!”

She drives me crazy. She constantly thinks up new ways I might hurt myself or
do some kind of damage.

“Sit up straight or your spine will curve.”

“Don’t make ugly faces. Your face will freeze, and you’ll always look like
that.”

“Don’t pick your nose. Your finger will get stuck.”

She’s also the world’s expert on germs. According to Mom,
everything
you touch or see will give you germs.

“Don’t hug the dog. It has germs.”

“Don’t take a bite of Jeremy’s candy bar. Germs.”

“Don’t put your hands in your pockets. Germs.”

Mom is always on guard duty. Always alert. Always ready to step in and warn
me about something.

It makes my life a little hard.

She doesn’t like for me to play softball with my friends. She’s sure I’ll
break my leg. That’s if I’m lucky. If I’m unlucky, I’ll break every bone in my
body.

Do you know how
hard
it would be to break
every
bone in your
body?

My mom is the only person in the world who thinks people do it every day of
the week!

That’s why I had to sneak out of the house to go play softball at the
playground with Jeremy and some other kids from my school.

It was a warm, sunny day. The green lawns along Fulton Street all glowed in
the sunlight. The air smelled fresh and sweet.

It felt so good to be jogging down the sidewalk with Jeremy, looking forward
to playing a game, laughing and spending time with friends.

School had let out early because of some kind of teachers’ meeting. I hurried
home and dropped off my backpack.

The house was empty, except for Tyler, my dog. He’s part cocker spaniel, part
we-don’t-know-what.

Tyler was happy to see me. He licked my face.

Mom doesn’t like it when I let Tyler lick my face. You know why. The terrible
“G” word.

Mom was out shopping or something. I guess she forgot that I’d be home early.

Such a lucky break. I changed into a ragged pair of jeans and a T-shirt. Then
I grabbed my baseball glove and hurried out to meet Jeremy before Mom returned
home.

“Marco, what would your mom do if she caught you playing softball?” Jeremy
asked.

“Warn me,” I replied. “She never punishes me or anything. She just warns me.”

“My parents
never
warn me about anything,” Jeremy said.

“That’s because you’re perfect!” I teased.

Jeremy slugged me on the arm.

Actually, I wasn’t teasing. Jeremy
is
perfect. He gets all A’s in
school. He’s good at sports. He takes care of his little sister. He almost never
gets in trouble.

He doesn’t touch anything with germs.

Perfect…

We passed the bus stop and crossed Fairchild Avenue. Our school came into
view. It’s a long, one-story building that stretches in a straight line for
nearly a whole block.

The walls of the school are painted bright yellow. As yellow as an egg yolk.
Mom says they discuss the color a lot at Parent Association meetings. No one
likes it.

Jeremy and I jogged through the teachers’ parking lot to the playground
behind the building. The softball diamond stood behind the row of swings.

A bunch of kids were already there. I recognized Gwynnie Evans and Leo
Murphy.

The Franklin twins were arguing as usual, standing nose to nose, screaming at
each other. They’re weird guys. You can never put them on the same team.

“You can start now!” Jeremy shouted. “The all-stars are here!”

He took off across the grass. Leo and some of the other kids called out to
us.

I slowed to a walk, breathing hard. Jeremy is a lot better athlete than I am.

Gwynnie stood on the pitching mound, swinging two bats and talking to Lauren
Blank. Gwynnie is always trying to prove that she’s better in sports than any of
the boys.

She’s big and strong. She’s at least half a foot taller than me, and she’s
got much bigger shoulders. She’s always pushing kids around and acting tough.

No one likes her. But we always want her on our team because she can hit the
ball a mile. And if some kind of argument breaks out, Gwynnie
always
wins
it because she can yell the loudest.

“Let’s get started,” Jeremy declared.

“Who’s choosing up sides?” I asked. “Who are the captains?”

Leo pointed. “Gwynnie and Lauren.”

I took off running to the pitcher’s mound. Gwynnie dropped one of the bats to
the ground. She had the other one in her grip.

I guess she didn’t see me.

As I ran up to her, she pulled the bat back—and swung it with all her
might.

I saw the bat move.

But I didn’t have time to duck or move out of the way.

The bat made a loud
THUNK
as it slammed into the side of my head.

At first, I didn’t feel a thing.

The ground tilted up.

But I still didn’t feel anything.

Then the pain exploded in my head.

Exploded… exploded… exploded.

Everything flashed bright red.

So bright, I had to shut my eyes.

I heard myself shrieking. Neighing like a horse. A shrill wail I never heard
before.

And then the ground flew up to swallow me.

I woke up staring at the ceiling.

A blue ceiling light—blue as the sky—blurred then sharpened, blurred then
sharpened above me.

Mom’s face floated into view.

I blinked once. Twice. I knew I was home.

Mom’s eyes were red and wet. She had her black hair pulled back tightly. But
several strands had fallen loose and hung down her forehead.

Her chin trembled. “Marco—?”

I groaned.

My head ached. Everything ached.

I’ve done it, I thought. I’ve broken every bone in my body.

“Marco—?” Mom repeated in a whisper. “Are you waking up, dear?”

“Huh?” I groaned again.

Something was sitting on my head. Weighing me down.

Tyler? Why was the dog sitting on my head?

My arms ached as I slowly raised my hands to my head.

And felt a bandage. A heavy bandage.

I lowered my hands. The room began to spin. I gripped the couch cushions,
holding on for dear life.

I stared up at the blue ceiling light until it came into focus. The den. I
was lying on the soft leather couch in the den.

Mom floated into view again, her chin still trembling. She pulled a blanket
up nearly to my chin. “Marco? You’re awake?” she repeated. “How do you feel?”

“Great,” I muttered.

Talking made my throat hurt.

She stared down at me. “Can you see me, dear? It’s me. Your mom.”

“Yeah. I can see,” I whispered.

She wiped one eye with a tissue. Then she stared at me some more.

“I can see fine,” I told her.

She patted my chest over the blanket. “That’s good, dear.”

I groaned in reply.

Please don’t say, I told you so!
I thought. I crossed my fingers, even
though it hurt to cross them. And I prayed.
Please don’t say I told you so.

Mom’s expression changed. She frowned at me. “I
told
you not to play
baseball,” she said.

“It wasn’t baseball,” I choked out. “It was soft-ball.”

“I
told
you not to play,” Mom said sternly. “But you didn’t listen to
me. And now you’ve cracked your head open like an eggshell.”

“Huh?” I gasped. “Cracked it open? Mom, will I be okay?”

She didn’t answer.

“Will I?” I demanded. “Tell me the truth. What did the doctor say, Mom? Will
I be okay?”

“Of course,” she replied. Her face floated over me for a second, then slid
out of view.

I didn’t like the way she said it. It sounded false. Too cheerful.

“Tell me the truth,” I insisted. “Am I really going to be okay?”

No answer.

I lifted my head. Sharp pain shot down the back of my neck.

Mom had vanished from the room. I could hear her putting plates away in the
kitchen.

I tried calling her. But my voice came out in a hoarse whisper.

I lowered my head slowly to the couch cushion and shut my eyes.

I guess I drifted off to sleep. The ringing phone woke me up.

I blinked up at the blue ceiling light, forcing it to come into focus. The
phone rang and rang. I waited for Mom to pick it up. But she didn’t answer it.

Did she go out and leave me all alone? I wondered. She wouldn’t do that.
Where is she?

Groaning, I rolled onto my side and grabbed the phone off the coffee table. I
raised it to my ear.

“Owww!”

I banged it too hard against the bandage over my head. The side of my head
throbbed with pain.

“Hello?” I croaked.

I heard breathing on the other end. And then a voice I didn’t recognize said,
“I hope you’re okay, Marco.”

“Who—who is this?” I stammered. I shut my eyes tight, trying to push away
the pain of my throbbing head.

“I hope you’re okay,” the voice repeated. A boy’s voice. “I don’t want
anything bad to happen to you.”

“Huh? You don’t?” I murmured. “Uh… thanks.” I kept my eyes shut. The pain
pulsed at my temples. It was hard to hold the phone over the heavy bandage.

“Who
is
this?” I demanded again.

“I don’t want anything bad to happen to you,” the boy said again. “Because
you’re going to take care of me from now on.”

“Excuse me?” I choked out. “I don’t understand.”

Silence at the other end.

I took a deep breath. I decided to ask the question one more time. “Who is
this?”

“It’s me,” the voice replied. “Keith.”

“Keith?”

“Yes. Keith.”

“I—I don’t know you,” I stammered.

“You should,” the boy replied softly. “You should know me, Marco. I live in
your basement.”

Did I hang up? Or did Keith hang up?

I’m not sure. I felt very confused, very upset.

Keith hadn’t called to be friendly. I knew he was trying to scare me.

But, why?

Was it actually a friend of mine? Someone from school playing a joke? It
wasn’t a very funny joke.

I stared at the ceiling, feeling groggy and weak. I don’t know how much time
passed.

I kept picturing Gwynnie standing on the pitcher’s mound. I saw her swinging
two bats. Then one. I saw the bat whirling toward my head.

“Ohhh.” I uttered a low moan and forced the picture from my mind.

“How are you doing, Marco?” a voice whispered.

I gazed up at Mom. She had brushed her hair and put on lipstick. She had
changed into a bright green T-shirt and a dark skirt.

“Feeling better?” she asked. “I brought you a bowl of cereal. You should try eating something. If you don’t eat, acid will
burn a hole in your stomach.”

“Mom—the phone,” I started groggily. “It rang and—”

“Yes, I know,” she interrupted. “It was Jeremy. He wanted to know if he could
come over to see you.”

“Huh? Jeremy?”

She nodded. “I told him you weren’t quite ready for visitors. I said he could
probably come tomorrow.”

“I didn’t mean that call,” I said. I pulled myself up onto my elbows. My head
didn’t throb as badly. The room didn’t spin and tilt.

I was starting to feel a little stronger.

“I got another call,” I told her. “You didn’t pick up, so I answered it.”

“But, Marco—” Mom started.

“It was from a strange boy,” I continued. “It was a very weird call. He said
his name was Keith. And he said he lived in our basement.”

Mom’s expression changed. She lowered her eyes. “Oh, wow,” she murmured.