Positive by Elizabeth Barone Page A

enough open windows. "So what're you doing
here?"
    "Well," Ingrid said, her blue eyes narrowed, "I
need to write an IEP for one of my students, and the house is way
too quiet. Victor's always out lately." She sighed.
    Josalee frowned. "Well, it's good you got out
of the house," she offered, but the words didn't sound quite as
comforting out loud as they had in her head. "Now you can have some
adult interaction."
    Ingrid shrugged.
"I like my students. They all want to be around me."
    Josalee's shoulders slumped. Normally, she'd
offer to buy coffee, but all she wanted to do was get away before
Ingrid could ask more questions. She stood. "I'm sorry, hon, but
I've gotta get going."
    Ingrid sighed. "I know. I don't want to make
you late. Call me later?"
    Josalee nodded,
then hurried out of the library. She caught another bus and took it
to the cemetery at the edge of town. When she and David were
teenagers, they snuck out and sat on the bridge over the
lake — David to escape his
homophobic parents, Josalee to escape her overprotective Japanese
father.
    She sat on the concrete wall and stared at the
pipe that curved in an upside down U and led nowhere. Beneath her,
inky water flowed through the dam. Moonlight reflected off the
lake's surface, and the cool, grassy scent of spring filled her
nostrils. She stared at the dark water and felt her center calm to
the same stillness.
    If things were different, she might welcome a
baby; David would make a much better uncle.

Chapter 2
    David pulled a white envelope out of his back
pocket the second he heard Josalee close the door behind her. He
leaned against the counter in the kitchen and, with shaking hands,
began ripping it open. Its glue was tight, though, so he set it
down and opened the drawer where they kept the scissors. He didn't
really expect to find them there, though; Jo had a habit of not
putting things away. He yanked open the silverware drawer.
Naturally, all of the butter knives were dirty. He snatched up a
steak knife and picked up the envelope again.
    His hands shook
like a baby rabbit as he began slicing it open. The knife zigged
and zagged through the paper, then caught. He slammed it down.
"I told her we
needed new knives," he said to the empty kitchen. He ran a hand
through his short, curly blond hair, took a deep breath, and
returned to the envelope. He jiggled the knife through the paper
and it poked up through the top of the envelope. A second later, a
little drop of red blood painted the stark white paper. David
gasped and dropped the envelope and knife onto the counter. He
rushed to the sink and turned the water on. If JoJo were here , he
thought, she'd laugh at me
for being such a baby . He sighed and
wrapped a paper towel around his finger, pressed it tight, and went
back to the counter.
    His heart thudded in his chest like the drum in
an industrial song. He gripped the edge of the counter and stared
at the half open envelope. He sighed, picked it up again, and
awkwardly tore it the rest of the way open.
    He scanned the letter quickly, then stared at
the second page listing his new state insurance benefits. The
doctor at the clinic warned him that with his new "pre-existing
condition," it wouldn't be much. He felt bile rising in his throat,
but couldn't make it to the bathroom. He turned and vomited into
the sink. He grasped the edge of the counter while he emptied his
already empty stomach, shaking and sweating. It felt like forever
before he could raise his head from the stainless steel. He turned
on the water and rinsed it down, then slowly sank to the floor. He
shivered and twitched. He felt the nausea rising again, and pulled
himself up to the sink.
    * * * * *
    He wiped down the
counters and sink with bleach, a latex glove on the hand of the
finger he'd cut. Tears stung his eyes as he dried off the counter
with paper towels. He leaned against the counter and did the math
on his fingers for the hundredth time in the last few weeks. His
mind flashed to the