is makes me feel a whole lot better, because I know he’ll survive whatever trouble chases him down.
My eyes settle on my television set that rests in the corner just beneath the map. Well, I’ll tell you one thing: if I was teaching geography on television right now, I’d stop the program to make an emergency announcement. “If you find my brother, Elias Pickett, hide him! I’ll give you a big reward.” I think of what the reward would be. Something that would make everyone want to help. “If you keep my brother safe, I’ll give you my very own television.” But then I reckon folks watching my program already have a television, so I’d add, “And I can guarantee my television is bigger than yours!”
I take the cloth off my forehead and leave it on my bed. I want to go into the living room and hold Mama till she’s calm, but hugging Mama when she’s out of her mind with fright would be downright strange.
So instead, I climb onto my brother’s bed that’s against the window. Then I lift the screen and stretch my leg down to the overturned bucket. I set my weight gently onto it and stumble onto the pine needles that cover the yard. That’s how I get outside without getting in Mama’s way.
Even before I whistle and click, Flapjack meows and rubs against my ankles, so I pick him up and carry him to the swing that hangs from the oak tree. My tears fall onto the scruff of his neck. “You were stolen,” I tell him. And that’s the honest-to-goodness truth. He needs to know I’d never give him to those bullies, Buck Fowler and Jimmy Worth.
I brush my cheek against Flapjack’s fur and feel how it’s smooth in one direction but prickles in the other. Together we swing in silence, back and forth to the rhythm of Mama’s wails, while neighbors carry trays of food into the house.
And it seems like forever till Delilah comes on outside. She strings her skinny body onto the swing to sit beside Flapjack and me.
Most times being with Delilah makes me feel more alive, because I never know what she’ll do next. She might wear a rope bracelet round her ankle or walk on the white side with her head held high. But tonight, even though I sit beside her for hours, I feel nothing but dead inside.
Later, after most of our neighbors have gone home to bed, Delilah whispers, “Tomorrow we can jump double Dutch,” and I know things must be even worse than I thought, because like I said, after she finished fifth grade, Delilah swore off jumping for good.
After we say good night, I tiptoe up the steps into the front room where Mama’s on the couch, eyes puffed out worse than ever. I try to give her some comfort. “Elias is smart,” I tell her. “Strong too.”
Then Uncle Bump lumbers in from the kitchen and sits on the bench across from the couch. “You go on to sleep,” he tells me.
So I lug myself into the bedroom. All of a sudden, that nook I share with my brother seems bigger than the United States of America. And of course, I’m not going to sleep. How can I?
Instead, I stand behind the sheet that hangs across my bedroom doorway and listen. For years, Elias and me practiced eavesdropping through this sheet. Between us, we could make sense of the softest whispers.
But without him, it’s hard to understand it all.
I only hear these words from Mama: “He goin’ home.”
Those are enough words for me! I can’t stand how she talks like my brother’s never coming back. I’ve got to stop myself from bursting into the living room to set her straight. But I know that what’s going on, it’s more than any of us can handle. And I don’t want to yell at Mama and upset her worse than she already is.
Then—I don’t know why—I get into Elias’s bed instead of my own. Under the sheet, I close my eyes and breathe that too-much-baseball smell mixed up with the smell of sage from the farm. My belly rises and falls. I hear my own breath. Then I feel a river in my chest. And even though my eyes, they’re
My eyes settle on my television set that rests in the corner just beneath the map. Well, I’ll tell you one thing: if I was teaching geography on television right now, I’d stop the program to make an emergency announcement. “If you find my brother, Elias Pickett, hide him! I’ll give you a big reward.” I think of what the reward would be. Something that would make everyone want to help. “If you keep my brother safe, I’ll give you my very own television.” But then I reckon folks watching my program already have a television, so I’d add, “And I can guarantee my television is bigger than yours!”
I take the cloth off my forehead and leave it on my bed. I want to go into the living room and hold Mama till she’s calm, but hugging Mama when she’s out of her mind with fright would be downright strange.
So instead, I climb onto my brother’s bed that’s against the window. Then I lift the screen and stretch my leg down to the overturned bucket. I set my weight gently onto it and stumble onto the pine needles that cover the yard. That’s how I get outside without getting in Mama’s way.
Even before I whistle and click, Flapjack meows and rubs against my ankles, so I pick him up and carry him to the swing that hangs from the oak tree. My tears fall onto the scruff of his neck. “You were stolen,” I tell him. And that’s the honest-to-goodness truth. He needs to know I’d never give him to those bullies, Buck Fowler and Jimmy Worth.
I brush my cheek against Flapjack’s fur and feel how it’s smooth in one direction but prickles in the other. Together we swing in silence, back and forth to the rhythm of Mama’s wails, while neighbors carry trays of food into the house.
And it seems like forever till Delilah comes on outside. She strings her skinny body onto the swing to sit beside Flapjack and me.
Most times being with Delilah makes me feel more alive, because I never know what she’ll do next. She might wear a rope bracelet round her ankle or walk on the white side with her head held high. But tonight, even though I sit beside her for hours, I feel nothing but dead inside.
Later, after most of our neighbors have gone home to bed, Delilah whispers, “Tomorrow we can jump double Dutch,” and I know things must be even worse than I thought, because like I said, after she finished fifth grade, Delilah swore off jumping for good.
After we say good night, I tiptoe up the steps into the front room where Mama’s on the couch, eyes puffed out worse than ever. I try to give her some comfort. “Elias is smart,” I tell her. “Strong too.”
Then Uncle Bump lumbers in from the kitchen and sits on the bench across from the couch. “You go on to sleep,” he tells me.
So I lug myself into the bedroom. All of a sudden, that nook I share with my brother seems bigger than the United States of America. And of course, I’m not going to sleep. How can I?
Instead, I stand behind the sheet that hangs across my bedroom doorway and listen. For years, Elias and me practiced eavesdropping through this sheet. Between us, we could make sense of the softest whispers.
But without him, it’s hard to understand it all.
I only hear these words from Mama: “He goin’ home.”
Those are enough words for me! I can’t stand how she talks like my brother’s never coming back. I’ve got to stop myself from bursting into the living room to set her straight. But I know that what’s going on, it’s more than any of us can handle. And I don’t want to yell at Mama and upset her worse than she already is.
Then—I don’t know why—I get into Elias’s bed instead of my own. Under the sheet, I close my eyes and breathe that too-much-baseball smell mixed up with the smell of sage from the farm. My belly rises and falls. I hear my own breath. Then I feel a river in my chest. And even though my eyes, they’re
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