Twenty-One

“Didn’t you wear that yesterday?”

I don’t want to, but I nod.

I hoped no one would notice.

“We don’t have a lot of money right now, and I couldn’t do laundry last night,” I told her.

“Oh,” she snooted, then walked away.

What I told her was only partly true.

We don’t have a lot of money right now.

But we never have a lot of money.

I only have two pairs of pants, and both of them are stretchy.

And I only have four shirts.

Mom claims we don’t have money, but I know my dad sends money to her.

We do have plenty of liquor.

Every night, we drive to the liquor store to pick up a big new bottle of Jose Gold tequila.

She thinks I’m too young to notice, too young to wonder why she always has liquor, but I barely have clothes.

After school, Mom picks me up.

We drive to the liquor store.

She runs in, picks up her elixir, and is out in less than five minutes.

“Mom, do you think I can get another pair of pants and maybe another shirt sometime soon?”

She sighs, “Oh baby, I wish I could, but we can’t afford that right now.”

I turn away, a tear sliding down my face.

This is the third time this week I’ve had to wear these pants.

Kids are starting to whisper and stare.

All I want is to not be noticed.