“Huh? Oh . . . Joey. You startled me.”
“There’s a centipede in my room.”
Mom sighed and lay back down. “It’ll go away. Go back to bed.”
I waited a moment, then said, “I can’t sleep with it in there.”
Mom reached down to the floor, fumbling with her eyes shut. “Here, take my slipper and kill it.”
I took it. A flimsy rubber thong.
Mom rolled back over to face the wall.
“Good night, Joey.”
Back in my room I reached out with the slipper and knocked the frame over. The centipede woke up and raced across the counter with me slapping after it.
Whop!
Missed.
Whop!
Missed.
Whop!
I was too afraid to get close enough to actually hit it.
It ran behind my U.S. Army ammo box.
Whop! Whop!
The ammo box jumped, and the loose machine-gun shells inside it rattled. I hit my U.S. Army helmet liner and sent it flying to the floor with a loud, thwacking crash.
Whop!
The centipede slipped down a crack in the back of the counter, then went under the counter.
I stepped back, my heart pounding.
I dropped the slipper and lunged back up the ladder. I checked under my sheets for more centipedes, looked under my book, under my pillow and in the pillowcase, then sat there with my heart trying to leap up out of my throat.
After a few minutes I picked up my book.
The gulf which separated the chiefs . . .
The next day after school a huge mass of clouds swarmed in from the west and swallowed the islands. The whole sky rolled toward the earth and coiled down around the mountaintops. Shaggy beards of rain hung deep into the valleys, turning everything gray.
Me, Willy, and Julio were out in the middle of our street. My hair stood straight up from all the electricity in the air. A gust of wind whipped up and flapped my shirt. A miniature tornado twirled in the dust along the side of the road, and cool earth smells of mud and iron rose from the ground.
Just up the street Maya came bounding out of her house, and when she saw us she waved and shouted,
“Bring it on!”
There wasn’t one of us who didn’t love a good storm.
Except Stella.
“Look at her,” I said, glancing back at her looking out of our plate-glass living room window.
“How come she don’t come out?” Julio said.
“She’s worried. She thinks a hurricane is coming.”
Willy raised his eyebrows. “Sounds good to me.”
“Come out!” I shouted, knowing she’d rather be in a room full of furry spiders than in a hurricane. But this was no hurricane . . . yet.
Stella ran her finger across her throat, meaning she was going to get me for making fun of her.
I laughed.
In a way I couldn’t blame her for being scared. She’d been in some bad hurricanes. She told me she once saw a stop sign stabbed halfway through a pine tree by the force of the wind. She told me about the ruins of houses along the oceanfront in Biloxi and Gulfport, most of them little more than tangled piles of sticks.
“You have no idea what you’re even talking about,” she said when I told her storms were fun. “You’re just a stupid little boy and you always will be. Unless, of course, something wakes you up. Which would be a miracle.”
“We’ve had hurricanes here, too,” I said. “And I didn’t see any of that. You’re just trying to scare me.”
She smirked. “Someday you’re going to regret that you were born with such a small brain. You just wait, buddy.”
Buddy.
She liked that word.
I turned back to Willy and Julio. “Anyways, what’s she so scared of? This ain’t even a hurricane. It’s just a regular old storm.”
Later I was sitting on the grass with Darci where our yard started to slope down to the canal. I glanced over my shoulder when I heard a car pull up.
Ledward spilled out of his canvas-topped Jeep and hitched up his pants, all dressed up for Mom. He wore a yellow-and-green Hawaiian shirt, hanging loose, Hawaiian-style. He even had on shoes.
He saw me and lifted his chin, Hello, then walked over. He was so tall it
“There’s a centipede in my room.”
Mom sighed and lay back down. “It’ll go away. Go back to bed.”
I waited a moment, then said, “I can’t sleep with it in there.”
Mom reached down to the floor, fumbling with her eyes shut. “Here, take my slipper and kill it.”
I took it. A flimsy rubber thong.
Mom rolled back over to face the wall.
“Good night, Joey.”
Back in my room I reached out with the slipper and knocked the frame over. The centipede woke up and raced across the counter with me slapping after it.
Whop!
Missed.
Whop!
Missed.
Whop!
I was too afraid to get close enough to actually hit it.
It ran behind my U.S. Army ammo box.
Whop! Whop!
The ammo box jumped, and the loose machine-gun shells inside it rattled. I hit my U.S. Army helmet liner and sent it flying to the floor with a loud, thwacking crash.
Whop!
The centipede slipped down a crack in the back of the counter, then went under the counter.
I stepped back, my heart pounding.
I dropped the slipper and lunged back up the ladder. I checked under my sheets for more centipedes, looked under my book, under my pillow and in the pillowcase, then sat there with my heart trying to leap up out of my throat.
After a few minutes I picked up my book.
The gulf which separated the chiefs . . .
The next day after school a huge mass of clouds swarmed in from the west and swallowed the islands. The whole sky rolled toward the earth and coiled down around the mountaintops. Shaggy beards of rain hung deep into the valleys, turning everything gray.
Me, Willy, and Julio were out in the middle of our street. My hair stood straight up from all the electricity in the air. A gust of wind whipped up and flapped my shirt. A miniature tornado twirled in the dust along the side of the road, and cool earth smells of mud and iron rose from the ground.
Just up the street Maya came bounding out of her house, and when she saw us she waved and shouted,
“Bring it on!”
There wasn’t one of us who didn’t love a good storm.
Except Stella.
“Look at her,” I said, glancing back at her looking out of our plate-glass living room window.
“How come she don’t come out?” Julio said.
“She’s worried. She thinks a hurricane is coming.”
Willy raised his eyebrows. “Sounds good to me.”
“Come out!” I shouted, knowing she’d rather be in a room full of furry spiders than in a hurricane. But this was no hurricane . . . yet.
Stella ran her finger across her throat, meaning she was going to get me for making fun of her.
I laughed.
In a way I couldn’t blame her for being scared. She’d been in some bad hurricanes. She told me she once saw a stop sign stabbed halfway through a pine tree by the force of the wind. She told me about the ruins of houses along the oceanfront in Biloxi and Gulfport, most of them little more than tangled piles of sticks.
“You have no idea what you’re even talking about,” she said when I told her storms were fun. “You’re just a stupid little boy and you always will be. Unless, of course, something wakes you up. Which would be a miracle.”
“We’ve had hurricanes here, too,” I said. “And I didn’t see any of that. You’re just trying to scare me.”
She smirked. “Someday you’re going to regret that you were born with such a small brain. You just wait, buddy.”
Buddy.
She liked that word.
I turned back to Willy and Julio. “Anyways, what’s she so scared of? This ain’t even a hurricane. It’s just a regular old storm.”
Later I was sitting on the grass with Darci where our yard started to slope down to the canal. I glanced over my shoulder when I heard a car pull up.
Ledward spilled out of his canvas-topped Jeep and hitched up his pants, all dressed up for Mom. He wore a yellow-and-green Hawaiian shirt, hanging loose, Hawaiian-style. He even had on shoes.
He saw me and lifted his chin, Hello, then walked over. He was so tall it
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