IRS

“So, there are no more deductibles.  The dividends aren’t big enough and we’re totally fucked.   Damn it.  Yes, I understand falsifying records would be a felony, but . . . I understand that.  Well, is it possible to set up a structured settlement with the I R S?   A lawyer?   No, I don’t want an attorney.  You’re a C P A, why can’t you fix it?   Yes, I know there are back taxes, but I thought your results were guaranteed?   Guaranteed accurate. . .and it is accurate.   Yea, then why am I at risk of going to jail?   Yes, I know you’re not an attorney. . . But, then what do I ?   Go to jail?   The court’ll have to give me an attorney.   But what about my little girl, Cheri?”   That’s me.   What does cpa have to do with me?   Did I do something wrong?  

     “Yes, well how far am I from being in the next lowest tax bracket?   See, that’s not very much.  Why don’t we just ask these bastards to lean a little bit and put me in the next lowest tax bracket?   Fraud?   To even ask?   No, no, see I give ‘em this whole sob story and then they’ll. . . they won’t.   Why?   Yes, I know that, but then what the fuck do I do?   If I can’t afford my taxes, how the fuck can I afford an attorney?   Yea, I know it’s not your problem.   Fuck.   Well, is there any way for me to get a free attorney before I’m arrested?   There ain’t?   What about Cheri?   So, I have to get arrested?   I told you I can’t fucking afford an attorney?   If I can get a free attorney in jail, why the fuck can’t I get one out of jail?    There is?   Do you have a number?   Then why the fuck didn’t you tell me that before?   Good-bye. Yes, I understand that.”

     I hear Daddy saying prayers and curses at the same time.   He’s yelling at and swearing at Uncle Sam.   I didn’t know I had an Uncle Sam.  I thought I knew all my aunts, uncles, and cousins, but I didn’t know I had an Uncle Sam.   Does that mean I have another aunt and cousins?   Maybe I should ask Daddy tomorrow?   Or maybe that’ll make Daddy angry again    I don’t know.  

      Then, I hear Daddy dialing numbers on his phone.   Then, I hear Daddy talking again.  

     “Hello?   Yes, I hear you help people who can’t afford lawyers.   Yes, well I have a tax problem, can your company help me with . . . Ok.   What’s their number?   Great.   Thank you.”  

     I hear more cursing and praying.   I also hear Daddy pacing back and forth.   He says more swear words and even swears to God.  I wonder if that’s a swear like a promise or a swear like a curse word.   Then, he dials again.  

      He says more curse words and then speaks with a smile.  He says his name and talks about his tax problems and leaves our number.   Then, he paces back and forth.  

Back and forth.  

     I close my door, soft, so Daddy won’t know I’ve heard his conversations.   It’s early or late, don’t know which.   Daddy got me an  analogue clock.   He said he’d teach me to read it, but he forgot and there’s no button to push to read the time to me.    

      So, I go back in my bed in my ‘Jami’s and go back under blankee and sheet covers.   I close my eyes, go on my side, and pretend to be asleep.   But, I can’t sleep.   I know if I sleep, I’ll have nightmares so I stay up and shiver.   Then, I feel like I gotta go but I know Daddy might be going to bed soon.  So, I creek the door open, tip-toe to the potty, and go tinkle.  I flush, wash my hands, and go back to my room.   I lay down and fall asleep.  

 *

     I hear the alarm go off, so I get out of bed, go potty, wash my hands, and go downstairs for breakfast.   I pour myself some Cheerios, put milk in it, and poured myself some juice.  Daddy’s snoring upstairs.   I hear him through the vents.   I want to get done and to the bus stop before Daddy wakes up.  I put the bowl to my little lips, and tipped the back side up.  Most of it went in my tummy, but some of it it went on the table and the floor.   So, I get a napkin, clean it up, put everything back, and go upstairs.   I go in the potty, wash up, get my book bag, go downstairs, open the door, then I open my book bag and make sure everything’s in there, like my homework.  It is.  So, I zip it back up, lock the front door, and walk.  I wonder if Daddy’ll be there when I come home.   My lower lip starts shaking.   I stop walking and take three deep breaths.   My lips stop shaking.   I walk to the bus stop and the other kids are still there.   Thank God.  

    I wait.   I hate waiting.   Daddy told me this story about these kids and marshmallows.   See, kids were given one marshmallow, but told if they waited for five minutes alone, and didn’t eat the marshmallow, they’d get 2 marshmallows.  The majority of the kids ate the marshmallows and didn’t get the second marshmallow.   

*

    The bus came and we got on it and I found a seat in the back, alone.   I prayed Daddy . . . Well, the reader already knows.   Then, someone sat beside me since there was nowhere else to sit.   They worked on their homework.  Idiot.  

     We get there and I take the history book and folder out.   I go in the back of the room, sit down, and take out my pencil. Everyone creeps in, including the teacher.   He sees everyone and looks back at me.  

    “Cheri, would you care to join the rest of us?”

    There was a long pause, but then I said, “No,” quiet.  

    “Excuse me?”

    “No,”.  

     He wrote a note on a sheet of paper and 

sent me to the Principal’s office.   Please God, let them not call my daddy.  Please God, let them not. . . 

      The secretary says Mr Boar will see me now.   I walk behind the secretary’s desk and go into Mr. Boar’s office.  He says good morning to me and I say it back.   He then asks me what’s going on.   Why don’t I want to sit with the other students and I try to explain how I have an evil uncle my daddy never told me about and how Daddy owes this evil uncle lots of money and how the CPA said my daddy might get a free attorney in jail, but can’t get one now and how Daddy’s angry, scared, and sad, and how this uncle is going to take me away because the CPA can’t help Daddy and I told Mr. Boar not to call Daddy since Daddy didn’t know I heard him talking to the CPA and was upset already and to please not make Daddy more upset.  Please.  

“I see.  And what’s this uncle’s name?”

And I told him, “Sam.   My Uncle Sam.”   Mr. Boar held back a chuckle.