say
paperboy
I would use the second name of the newspaper that started with a good sound.
Scimitar
.
I liked that word. There was a picture in my dictionary showing the scimitar to be a mean-looking curved sword. When I said the word the air came out of my mouth like the sound a sword would make if you sliced the wind with it.
Come back next week.
He started to close the door.
You owe s-s-s-s-two weeks.
The words came out of my mouth not sounding like my words because it was the first time I ever came close to talking back to a grown-up. And I didn’t even stutter much. My right hand was opening and closing trying to find my scimitar again.
I told you to get lost, kid. I mean it.
The glass in the door rattled when he slammed it.
I didn’t see this coming. I had never talked much to Mr. Worthington but I had seen him around and he had always seemed a nice enough guy. He cut his own yard with one of those push mowers that Ara T charged two dollars to sharpen. I got out the collection book to put a zero for the second time for 1396 Harbert when I heard glass breaking in the house. Then more yelling. It was Mr. Worthington.
Get your drunk ass up to the bathtub.
I’m not drunk … I’m shick of looking at you.
The voice was Mrs. Worthington’s with her whiskey talking.
Every day I come home you’re sot drunk. I’m tired of—
Mrs. Worthington interrupted Mr. Worthington by yelling louder than he was yelling.
You never come home when I need you. How …?
Then something else crashed in the house that sounded like a piece of furniture being smashed. More glass broke and I could hear things rolling around on hardwood floors. More yelling. I backed off the porch and straddled my bike and headed for Rat’s house. Lickety-split.
Mrs. Worthington was in trouble again like that time on the swing but I didn’t have the first clue how to help her. Part of me wanted to go back and ring the doorbell again with my make-believe sword but the stuttering part of me said to ride away. That was the part I usually listened to.
I wished Rat were around to talk about what to do. Rat liked to say that two heads were better than one.
The best I could do was get away from Mrs. Worthington’s as fast as I could. Running away is what I should call it. I pedaled my bike as fast as I could down Harbert. I turned the corner at Melrose and made a car swerve away from me. The driver honked the horn but I didn’t look back. I pedaled until my sides hurt and there was no more air left inside of me.
Rat’s mother came to the door.
How did collecting go tonight?
s-s-s-s-Fine … s-s-s-s-not fine.
Rat’s mother looked at me like she was going to ask another question but she had been around me enough to know to let some of my words fall without picking them up. She knew she would need to do most of the talking.
We talked to Art last night. He’s having a good time at his grandparents’ and he’s glad you’re taking such good care of his route for him.
I didn’t want to talk to Rat’s mother about the route and especially didn’t want to talk about what a good time Rat was having. He wasn’t here and I was left to sort out a bunch of new feelings by myself. Ara T. Mrs. Worthington. Mr. Spiro. All were taking over my world in their own way. A world that Rat wasn’t a part of because he was living it up on the farm. I gave Rat’s mother the money I had collected.
s-s-s-s-Glad he’s having a s-s-s-s-good time. See you s-s-s-s-n.…
I didn’t feel like trying to finish my sentence because I was disguising what I really wanted to say like Mr. Voltaire had talked about. Rat’s mother helped me out by smiling and closing the door.
When I turned onto my block I saw both of my parents’ cars in the driveway and remembered that my mother had said they weren’t going out Friday night and that the three of us were going to have a late supper at home.
I got off my bike and walked it to the garage. As I eased up the stairs
paperboy
I would use the second name of the newspaper that started with a good sound.
Scimitar
.
I liked that word. There was a picture in my dictionary showing the scimitar to be a mean-looking curved sword. When I said the word the air came out of my mouth like the sound a sword would make if you sliced the wind with it.
Come back next week.
He started to close the door.
You owe s-s-s-s-two weeks.
The words came out of my mouth not sounding like my words because it was the first time I ever came close to talking back to a grown-up. And I didn’t even stutter much. My right hand was opening and closing trying to find my scimitar again.
I told you to get lost, kid. I mean it.
The glass in the door rattled when he slammed it.
I didn’t see this coming. I had never talked much to Mr. Worthington but I had seen him around and he had always seemed a nice enough guy. He cut his own yard with one of those push mowers that Ara T charged two dollars to sharpen. I got out the collection book to put a zero for the second time for 1396 Harbert when I heard glass breaking in the house. Then more yelling. It was Mr. Worthington.
Get your drunk ass up to the bathtub.
I’m not drunk … I’m shick of looking at you.
The voice was Mrs. Worthington’s with her whiskey talking.
Every day I come home you’re sot drunk. I’m tired of—
Mrs. Worthington interrupted Mr. Worthington by yelling louder than he was yelling.
You never come home when I need you. How …?
Then something else crashed in the house that sounded like a piece of furniture being smashed. More glass broke and I could hear things rolling around on hardwood floors. More yelling. I backed off the porch and straddled my bike and headed for Rat’s house. Lickety-split.
Mrs. Worthington was in trouble again like that time on the swing but I didn’t have the first clue how to help her. Part of me wanted to go back and ring the doorbell again with my make-believe sword but the stuttering part of me said to ride away. That was the part I usually listened to.
I wished Rat were around to talk about what to do. Rat liked to say that two heads were better than one.
The best I could do was get away from Mrs. Worthington’s as fast as I could. Running away is what I should call it. I pedaled my bike as fast as I could down Harbert. I turned the corner at Melrose and made a car swerve away from me. The driver honked the horn but I didn’t look back. I pedaled until my sides hurt and there was no more air left inside of me.
Rat’s mother came to the door.
How did collecting go tonight?
s-s-s-s-Fine … s-s-s-s-not fine.
Rat’s mother looked at me like she was going to ask another question but she had been around me enough to know to let some of my words fall without picking them up. She knew she would need to do most of the talking.
We talked to Art last night. He’s having a good time at his grandparents’ and he’s glad you’re taking such good care of his route for him.
I didn’t want to talk to Rat’s mother about the route and especially didn’t want to talk about what a good time Rat was having. He wasn’t here and I was left to sort out a bunch of new feelings by myself. Ara T. Mrs. Worthington. Mr. Spiro. All were taking over my world in their own way. A world that Rat wasn’t a part of because he was living it up on the farm. I gave Rat’s mother the money I had collected.
s-s-s-s-Glad he’s having a s-s-s-s-good time. See you s-s-s-s-n.…
I didn’t feel like trying to finish my sentence because I was disguising what I really wanted to say like Mr. Voltaire had talked about. Rat’s mother helped me out by smiling and closing the door.
When I turned onto my block I saw both of my parents’ cars in the driveway and remembered that my mother had said they weren’t going out Friday night and that the three of us were going to have a late supper at home.
I got off my bike and walked it to the garage. As I eased up the stairs
Similar Books
