Sam Pink - Hurt Others

Other things I did were—

I cut up apples.

I drew a lot of Spiderman masks.

I did legos.

I tied shoes.

I supervised games of tag and often dominated them at recess. (Having longer legs and arms.)

I talked about dinosaurs.

I explained why you couldn’t act a certain way to another kid because of how you had to respect other people.

I addressed questions on the day a bird flew into the recess door and lay there bleeding and dying on the sidewalk by the fire exit, while we all watched.

I addressed questions about superheros and things about their powers that didn’t make sense to them.

I just made shit up a lot of the time, because kids believe anything you tell them as long as you don’t laugh while saying it.

I watched butterflies hatch for a science experiment.

I helped trace kids so they could draw themselves on large pieces of paper and hang them up for Parent Night.

I made paper aiplanes.

I went to museums.

I held hands.

I pushed up to four people on swings at the same time.

I made seven dollars an hour, which seemed like a lot.

When kids actually slept during nap time, I read books myself.

I read a book about World War Two and a death march and how when one prisoner in the march, like, did something wrong or fell down, a guy from the Japanese military swung his sword down into the prisoner’s head and the sword went from the top of the prisoner’s skull, all the way down into his neck.

Sometimes instead of reading I just drew pictures on pieces of construction paper lying around and then gave them to whoever wanted them when everyone woke up.

Every day at the job I felt angry and annoyed and then at the end the kids all said bye to me at the same time and/or tried to hug my leg to keep me from leaving and I felt dumb for getting mad.

No actually I was still mad.

It was summer and I was living in a studio apartment near Little Italy.

At night when it was too hot to sleep I’d shadowbox until I sweated a lot and felt tired enough to sleep.

The mirrored sliding door to my closet had streaks of sweat all over it, from months and months.

Or I had this old soccer ball that I would kick against the wall by the Christopher Columbus statue across the street.

I got thin and hardened.

I was ready for things no one had even heard of.

Ready for things that would never happen.

It was a very calm summer of realizing I didn’t want anything, and there were good reasons.

The nanny job paid thirteen dollars an hour, cash.

I only got the job because my friend told the family about my daycare work and she also made up some shit about how long she’d known me.

The family invited me to dinner.

Their apartment was in the downtown area of Chicago and overlooked the lake.

Their apartment had people working in the office area on the main floor.

It had electronic keycard access.

So fucking awesome it made me lose hope in everything.

The parents were from Ohio.

The husband said common political shit about needing to stop immigration, hating Barack Obama, and he also made jokes that centered on homosexuality as the funny part.

The wife was from Ohio too and she was really nice.

Their daughter’s name was Juliana and she was overweight.

At dinner, the mom said, “So basically, the job is just picking her up from school and doing her homework with her and playing with her until I get back from doing my campaign work. She’s a little brat but she can be good.”

“Yeah she’s a little something,” the husband said. “You like football man? You a Bears fan I guess? Probably a Bears fan yeah?”

I ate some of the lamb they made.

I had a brief vision of me and the wife, sitting naked in a field, with our hands on the back of a lamb, me and the wife looking at each other.

“I don’t like football,” I said.

“What do you like,” the husband said.

“I like boxing.”

He said, “No one watches boxing anymore.”

The mom continued, “And um, she can bathe herself.” She laughed and put some hair behind her ear. “Please, don’t bathe my child. Also, you don’t have to clean the apartment or anything.”

“I can do that if you want,” I said.

Both parents looked at me.

They thought I meant, “I can bathe your child if you want” but I was referring to cleaning the apartment.

“Cleaning the apartment,” I said.

They seemed upset.

The mom said, “Why don’t you and Juliana play in her room for a little bit.”

I said, “Ok. Dinner was good. Thank you.”

“Spank you,” the husband said, looking off somewhere, before getting up.

Juliana and I went to her room and we played with a huge dollhouse.

I was given a doll

I was told what to do.

I did what I was told.

The dollhouse was big and we played an extremely vague game with the dolls that involved a lot of walking around and not understanding what was going on.

It was fun though.

Then at one point Juliana smiled and said, “What about this” and she made her doll shit and then eat it, saying something like, “Chup chup chup”—laughing.

“I don’t know,” I said, laughing.

Then she was laughing hard, almost without sound, her eyes watering.

“Chup chup chup.”

She made the doll shit again and then eat it and then she rolled her eyes all around and said, “Mm mm, I love it.”

I was laughing.

I said, “Man.”

Then the game with the dolls transitioned into making the dolls jump off the roof of the dollhouse and hit the carpet and die.

The mom told me it’d be a regular thing with regular pay but it turned out only me being on call for whenever they wanted to leave the apartment.

Which turned out to be barely at all.

It was bullshit.

Almost two months, a day or two each week.

Like, seven visits total.

Picking Juliana up from school was weird because it was a bunch of middle-aged women waiting for their children and then me, a big dumbass with a shaved-head, looking tired.

On the walks home from school, Juliana would tell me about her classmates and about toys she wanted.

I would ask her questions about the toys.

Like, “Why do you want that toy.”

Or, “Why is it good that the toy does that.”

When she finally noticed it was a regular thing I did, she stopped explaining anything and would just say, “Stah-opp, I’m trying to tell you.”

At home I helped her with homework.

It was easy.

I knew all the answers immediately.

We traced letters and colored pictures at the dinner table, overlooking the entire skyline of the city and the lake.

All of Chicago opened up, even the factories along the outside, the traintracks, highways, Chicago River, Sears Tower, State Street, everything.

I’d look out into the skyline and feel good feelings, even though there was nothing to feel good about.

“I handed out invitations for my birthday party today at school and I didn’t give one to stupid Larry,” she said, tracing over her vocabulary words.

She bit a grilled cheese sandwich I’d made her.

She said, “I hate Larry, he’s so gross.”

“Why is Larry gross,” I said, putting my legs up on another kitchen chair.

“He always has boogers in his nose and he pinches everyone. He’s stupid. Larry is so stupid.”

“So he’s not coming to your birthday party,” I said, checking over a packet of homework her teacher had returned graded. “I see a lot of stickers here, good job.”

“Um, yeah thanks,” she said, still trying to stay mad. “No he’s not coming because he’s retarded.”

“Larry is retarded.”

“Yeah I hate him. Charmene is coming and I told her to buy me a Littlest Pet Shop toy. It’s a squirrel named Rodney and I don’t have him yet but I want him.”