wearing her slip and panty hose and navy blue pumps. Her skirt and blouse lay on the bed ready for her, but
poof!
she dies before she can get to them. She dies with the blow-dryer in her hand and her hair half-wet and half-dry. She dies right in the middle of living. It made no sense. Life made no sense.
I turned around to leave and found Bobbi standing behind me. I hadn't even heard her.
"Hi," I said, and then added, "bye."
"Yeah, good luck in your new house," she said, shaking her head so her hair fell back behind her shoulders. I had always had the feeling that she did that so people would notice her beautiful hair, and it was beautiful. It was honey colored, like clover honey, and it was long and straight and looked very heavy, as if she had tiny weights hanging from the ends. She liked to swish it and swing it and toss it behind her with her head or hands, whatever got her the best effect.
I looked away, uninterested in her charms. Neither one of us said anything, and then I said, "Well, gotta go."
I passed her and headed for the truck. She said to my back, "You never liked me, did you?"
I stopped walking and turned around. "You never gave me a reason to, Polanski."
"Seeley likes me. You didn't know that, did you? We talk sometimes." She flicked her hair back again and adjusted the sling around her arm.
"I'm not Seeley," I said, catching sight of a bruise on her wrist "So what happened to your arm?"
She laughed. "Fell. What else?"
"I can imagine what else," I said.
Bobbi studied the sling and I saw her expression change, turning inward, shutting down, and I flinched as if I'd heard the echoing slam of a dungeon door. I'd never seen a face change so suddenly. One second she was laughing at herself and the next she was gone—just gone. Then she became all smiles again, her dimples showing—more charm. "My dad
rigged up this sling. Pretty nice, huh? Better than you'd get at the doctor's. Dr. Morris even said it was good work. He said Dad tied it just the right height for my arm."
Someone honked the horn and I looked back toward the house a second, then at Bobbi. "See you—sometime—then," I said, backing away.
She held out her hand for me to shake. "I just wanted us to part friends."
I stopped and crossed my arms in front of me. "Why?"
"Come on, O'Brien, we grew up together, that's all. No ulterior motive."
I leaned forward and shook her hand. It felt cold and dry and firm.
The horn sounded again and she squeezed my hand before we both let go. I stood there for a moment, puzzling over her gesture, but then the horn blasted three more times and I took off.
***
A T THE NEW house we discovered that Mrs. Levi had left us a heavy-duty riding mower, which Pap wanted to ride right away. He was supposed to be unpacking all his junk from our old garage into our new one, but he couldn't stop fooling around with the mower.
I got tired of arguing with him and went inside to unload some other boxes, ones without a lot of broken junk in them.
Mam told me to help Larry in the parlor. I didn't know which room she was calling the parlor, so I hunted for Larry and found him in the room with the piano. It was an old upright, taller than I and heavy looking. Mrs. Levi had said it
was a Victorian piano. Someone had painted it a wine color. I went over and played a few notes. It sounded bad, as if I were playing it underwater.
Larry came up behind me and touched some of the lower notes. He had long fingers and the tips of them bent way back when he pressed a key.
"Maybe timing it will help," he said, trying a scale.
"Yeah', maybe." I went over to one of the boxes and ripped the tape off the top.
"You know, I had this thought," Larry said, turning to face me. "We ought to get Pap to try this thing out Who knows, he might turn out to be one of those idiot savants. You know, one of those people who have this one stroke of genius in them and then the rest of them is just—well—Anyway, I saw on TV this guy who could
poof!
she dies before she can get to them. She dies with the blow-dryer in her hand and her hair half-wet and half-dry. She dies right in the middle of living. It made no sense. Life made no sense.
I turned around to leave and found Bobbi standing behind me. I hadn't even heard her.
"Hi," I said, and then added, "bye."
"Yeah, good luck in your new house," she said, shaking her head so her hair fell back behind her shoulders. I had always had the feeling that she did that so people would notice her beautiful hair, and it was beautiful. It was honey colored, like clover honey, and it was long and straight and looked very heavy, as if she had tiny weights hanging from the ends. She liked to swish it and swing it and toss it behind her with her head or hands, whatever got her the best effect.
I looked away, uninterested in her charms. Neither one of us said anything, and then I said, "Well, gotta go."
I passed her and headed for the truck. She said to my back, "You never liked me, did you?"
I stopped walking and turned around. "You never gave me a reason to, Polanski."
"Seeley likes me. You didn't know that, did you? We talk sometimes." She flicked her hair back again and adjusted the sling around her arm.
"I'm not Seeley," I said, catching sight of a bruise on her wrist "So what happened to your arm?"
She laughed. "Fell. What else?"
"I can imagine what else," I said.
Bobbi studied the sling and I saw her expression change, turning inward, shutting down, and I flinched as if I'd heard the echoing slam of a dungeon door. I'd never seen a face change so suddenly. One second she was laughing at herself and the next she was gone—just gone. Then she became all smiles again, her dimples showing—more charm. "My dad
rigged up this sling. Pretty nice, huh? Better than you'd get at the doctor's. Dr. Morris even said it was good work. He said Dad tied it just the right height for my arm."
Someone honked the horn and I looked back toward the house a second, then at Bobbi. "See you—sometime—then," I said, backing away.
She held out her hand for me to shake. "I just wanted us to part friends."
I stopped and crossed my arms in front of me. "Why?"
"Come on, O'Brien, we grew up together, that's all. No ulterior motive."
I leaned forward and shook her hand. It felt cold and dry and firm.
The horn sounded again and she squeezed my hand before we both let go. I stood there for a moment, puzzling over her gesture, but then the horn blasted three more times and I took off.
***
A T THE NEW house we discovered that Mrs. Levi had left us a heavy-duty riding mower, which Pap wanted to ride right away. He was supposed to be unpacking all his junk from our old garage into our new one, but he couldn't stop fooling around with the mower.
I got tired of arguing with him and went inside to unload some other boxes, ones without a lot of broken junk in them.
Mam told me to help Larry in the parlor. I didn't know which room she was calling the parlor, so I hunted for Larry and found him in the room with the piano. It was an old upright, taller than I and heavy looking. Mrs. Levi had said it
was a Victorian piano. Someone had painted it a wine color. I went over and played a few notes. It sounded bad, as if I were playing it underwater.
Larry came up behind me and touched some of the lower notes. He had long fingers and the tips of them bent way back when he pressed a key.
"Maybe timing it will help," he said, trying a scale.
"Yeah', maybe." I went over to one of the boxes and ripped the tape off the top.
"You know, I had this thought," Larry said, turning to face me. "We ought to get Pap to try this thing out Who knows, he might turn out to be one of those idiot savants. You know, one of those people who have this one stroke of genius in them and then the rest of them is just—well—Anyway, I saw on TV this guy who could
Similar Books
