The Six Rules of Maybe

stepped forward, but that was it. The motorcyclist lifted his large arm and pointed to the boys.
    “You!” he roared. Why, why, why weren’t they running? Why didn’t they take off to hide inside their house, hide underneath their twin beds with race car sheets? The man’s body was huge. His voice came out as big as God’s. “That is … Awesome! That’s fucking awe some! Right on! ”
    Jeffrey and Jacob looked too stunned to respond. The motorcyclist was nodding vigorously, as if he’d just had one of the greatest moments of his life. He was happy. He was thrilled. He got back on his bike. Flashed a pair of thumbs up. “Right on .”
    I watched the orange Harley emblem on his wide back disappear down the street. I was stunned too. Now Jeffrey and Jacob bounced on their knees and shrieked and clutched each other. I’d almost saved them. I’d almost intervened and yet, this was a fabulous, glorious moment for them. For all of them. Something good had been heading their way, not something bad.
    God! How were you supposed to do the right thing for people when you couldn’t even predict what the right thing was? Did you have to be able to predict the future to make things come out the way they should?
    “Don’t tell Mom,” Jeffrey said.
    “Don’t tell the cops,” Jacob said, and this cracked them both up.
    “Let’s do it again!” Jeffrey shouted, as Jacob ran out into the street and set the purse straight again.
    The minute I saw Juliet, she was going to hear it from me. If she wanted to mess up her own life, fine. But there was Hayden to think about. There was Jitter. I didn’t know who exactly Jitter was going to be, but I was starting to want the best for him. I felt the rising heat of my words, waiting for the chance to erupt and spill. I didn’t care how young she thought I was. She’d better knock this off, and fast.
    I heard Juliet’s and Hayden’s voices in the basement later that afternoon. Maybe I would ask to speak to her alone; I’d say something like Can I have a word with you privately , the way people did on television. I walked down the stairs, to the cool paneled room. Noone ever spent much time down there, except our old Barbies and their pink Corvettes, packed away in boxes marked TOYS in fat black marker. It was the room that collected the past, the same as that one kitchen drawer collects the rubber bands and loose screws and take-out menus until you can’t even open it anymore. I didn’t even realize how much stuff was down there until now.
    “Knock knock,” I said.
    “Come on in,” Hayden said.
    I felt shaky with held-back anger. The sliding glass doors to the backyard were open, and Zeus trotted in and out with the glee of sudden free access to grass. Juliet sat on one box and had opened another; she had some of our old stuff laid out—my old Ernie Halloween costume; her Princess Jasmine one; Lambie, a stuffed lamb she used to keep in the corner of her room. She wore the Princess Jasmine headpiece on her white-gold hair.
    “Hey!” Hayden said to me. Zeus trotted back in, sniffed a hello into my palm, and then trotted back out again. He couldn’t believe his good fortune at being able to come and go as he pleased. I had felt that same way when I first got my driver’s license. “We’re trying to get our new digs ready,” Hayden said. “Studio apartment.”
    “You’re moving down here?” I asked. I tried to keep my voice steady. I avoided looking at Juliet.
    “We’re leaving the nest,” he said.
    “Mom just wants more distance between her and a crying baby,” Juliet said.
    “I doubt that,” I said. In fact, it was a stupid and selfish thing to say. “The way she’s been acting, she’d be happy if you let the baby move into her room. You, too.” I tried to keep back my fury, but my voice came out sounding snotty, even to me.
    Hayden looked up, but kept quiet. He directed his focus back tothe boxes. “These will fit into the garage,” he said.
    “’Member this, Scars?” Juliet held up an old rabbit we had that was actually a puppet. She put her hand up his backside and made his head look around. It felt wrong of her to dig inside all of those old boxes. What do you do with the past when it’s past ? You box it up, label it, move it out of sight. Opening it all back up again—it was going the wrong direction. Walking backward when you were trying hard to go forward. What good could come of it?
    “Better hide that from Zeus. He’ll rip it