Mom
Danny’ s
FICTION
By Susie Finkbeiner
The first time I heard the word“ hooker” was in third grade. A few of the boys in my class followed Danny around the playground, saying the word. Over and over and over.“ Hooker,” they said.“ Hooker. Hooker. Danny’ s mom is a hooker.”
I knew it must have been a bad or mean word. The boys laughed in a strange, angry way. Danny hung his head.
At our small, private school, everybody knew each other’ s business. Danny just happened to go to church with the biggest gossip at our school. As soon as she found out about his mom, she made sure everyone found out. Later that day, I found him crying in the coat room. I didn’ t ask him why. I didn’ t ask what a hooker was. I just knew that it was bad and that it had something to do with Danny. I left him there. Alone.
“ What’ s a hooker?” I asked my Grandma a few days later. I sat on her couch, the one she called a Davenport, sipping hot cocoa.“ The boys at school keep saying that word. What is it?”
“ It’ s not nice, that’ s what it is,” she answered.“ It’ s a girl who does something bad with men for money. That’ s all I’ m telling you.”
“ Danny’ s real mom is bad,” my friend Renee told me.“ She sleeps with men and they give her money.”
We sat atop the monkey bars on the playground at school. Renee always knew everything about everybody.
“ Why is that bad?” I asked.“ They’ re just sleeping.”
“ No. It’ s different.” Renee looked at me, moved closer.“ She does it with the men.”
“ Oh,” I said. I nodded. Pretended that I understood what it was. But whatever it was, I knew it was bad. And Danny’ s mom did it for money. And Danny was bad because his mom was bad.
“ Grandma told me you asked her what a hooker is,” my mom said to me in the car on the way home from school.“ Where did you hear that word?”
My mom was a teacher at my school. She knew all the kids. Probably figured out which kids had taught me the word. And I was a bad liar.“ I don’ t know,” I said.“ Was it Ricky? Or James?” She knew.
She always knew. I nodded my head.
“ How were they saying the word?” She pulled the station wagon onto the main street.
“ Well, they say it to Danny. About his mom.”
“ That poor boy,” she said. She shook her head. We didn’ t speak for the rest of the ride.
The next year I learned the word“ prostitute.” I also learned what a drug addict was. And that Danny’ s mom was one. Danny told me that. Kids who have it rough learn to trust each other. That’ s why he could trust me.