Read Online A Thousand Never Evers by Shana Burg - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Shana Burg
Tags: Fiction
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my mouth full of beans. I can’t say I see what the big deal is. If you’ve got to chew and talk, why not do both at the same time? But I don’t feel like picking a crow with Mama, so I swallow.
“That’s better,” she says. “Anyway, the reverend says the truth is gonna make itself known.”
“Well, when?” I ask Mama. “When’s it gonna make itself known?”
“Whenever it’s supposed to,” she tells me, as if that clears everything right up.
Uncle Bump pulls his harmonica out of his pocket, says good night, and leaves out the side door. Of course, while Mama and me clean up from supper, we go straight back to fretting about my brother.
Five days gone since Elias ran off, and we can’t go three minutes without thinking about him.
The next morning, soon as Mama and me get to the Tates’ house, she goes on upstairs, while I pour some milk into the tin bowl to set out back for Flapjack. I’m trying to teach my cat to wait for me till I’m ready to go home. A couple days ago, I showed Mrs. Tate the bowl I’d brought and asked her if she’d mind. “Training a cat!” she said, and laughed. “Now there’s a good idea! Most folks think you can only do that with dogs! Sure, I’ll donate milk to the cause.”
This morning, after I place the bowl outside, I step back into the Tates’ kitchen.
Mama shuffles down the stairs and plops Ralphie into my arms. “I’ve gotta dust this house floorboards to ceiling before the Garden Club meeting. You’ve gotta take him on your own,” she says.
At once I feel a rush of excitement, because I’m going to prove I’m more than capable.
Mama tells me after I give Ralphie walking lessons, lunch, stories, and a nap, I’d better give him a bath. “Don’t forget to check his bottom,” she says.
Later, while the bathwater runs, I take a good look at myself in the Tates’ washroom mirror. The last time I saw myself in a big mirror was more than a month ago in Old Man Adams’s place. I gather the cloth of my dress tight behind me and see what Mama’s been telling me, it’s true! My hip bones decided to spread apart from each other like butter. Mama says it means I’m starting to get a figure. And I figure a figure is a good thing, because Delilah’s already got one even though she’s only going into sixth grade, and all the boys think she’s the cat’s meow.
I’m still noticing my new figure, and I forget all about Ralphie till I feel his little hands press against my legs. Wouldn’t you know it, when I look down, I see that boy took three rolls of toilet paper out of the washroom cabinet. Now he’s got himself wrapped up like an Egyptian mummy. And he’s trying to wrap me too. “Stop that!” I say, and try not to laugh. But Ralphie just looks at me with a goofy grin.
I turn off the bathwater and gather up the toilet paper. It’s so soft! Truth be told, I’m tempted to fold it up and take it home, because ever since Uncle Bump stopped working, all we’ve got to use in the outhouse are the free department store catalogs that come in the mail. But I’ve got no bag to save the toilet paper in, so I stuff it into the trash can seconds before Mrs. Tate wanders into the washroom looking for her lipstick.
“I can’t imagine what you and your poor mother are going through with your brother gone,” she says as she rummages through the washroom drawer. “Well, I suppose working hard is the only way to get by.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I say. And she’s right about it too. After Mrs. Tate finds her lipstick, she leaves. But the whole time I’m bathing Ralphie, pinning on his diaper, and dressing him in the sailor outfit, I can’t stop thinking about my brother.
Not till I inhale.
Usually after a bath that boy smells sweet as a lace cookie. But today Ralphie doesn’t smell anything but rotten, so I carry him back to the changing table and clean him up.
Then I take him down to the kitchen and set him in the high chair. “Woof! Woof!” I say,
“That’s better,” she says. “Anyway, the reverend says the truth is gonna make itself known.”
“Well, when?” I ask Mama. “When’s it gonna make itself known?”
“Whenever it’s supposed to,” she tells me, as if that clears everything right up.
Uncle Bump pulls his harmonica out of his pocket, says good night, and leaves out the side door. Of course, while Mama and me clean up from supper, we go straight back to fretting about my brother.
Five days gone since Elias ran off, and we can’t go three minutes without thinking about him.
The next morning, soon as Mama and me get to the Tates’ house, she goes on upstairs, while I pour some milk into the tin bowl to set out back for Flapjack. I’m trying to teach my cat to wait for me till I’m ready to go home. A couple days ago, I showed Mrs. Tate the bowl I’d brought and asked her if she’d mind. “Training a cat!” she said, and laughed. “Now there’s a good idea! Most folks think you can only do that with dogs! Sure, I’ll donate milk to the cause.”
This morning, after I place the bowl outside, I step back into the Tates’ kitchen.
Mama shuffles down the stairs and plops Ralphie into my arms. “I’ve gotta dust this house floorboards to ceiling before the Garden Club meeting. You’ve gotta take him on your own,” she says.
At once I feel a rush of excitement, because I’m going to prove I’m more than capable.
Mama tells me after I give Ralphie walking lessons, lunch, stories, and a nap, I’d better give him a bath. “Don’t forget to check his bottom,” she says.
Later, while the bathwater runs, I take a good look at myself in the Tates’ washroom mirror. The last time I saw myself in a big mirror was more than a month ago in Old Man Adams’s place. I gather the cloth of my dress tight behind me and see what Mama’s been telling me, it’s true! My hip bones decided to spread apart from each other like butter. Mama says it means I’m starting to get a figure. And I figure a figure is a good thing, because Delilah’s already got one even though she’s only going into sixth grade, and all the boys think she’s the cat’s meow.
I’m still noticing my new figure, and I forget all about Ralphie till I feel his little hands press against my legs. Wouldn’t you know it, when I look down, I see that boy took three rolls of toilet paper out of the washroom cabinet. Now he’s got himself wrapped up like an Egyptian mummy. And he’s trying to wrap me too. “Stop that!” I say, and try not to laugh. But Ralphie just looks at me with a goofy grin.
I turn off the bathwater and gather up the toilet paper. It’s so soft! Truth be told, I’m tempted to fold it up and take it home, because ever since Uncle Bump stopped working, all we’ve got to use in the outhouse are the free department store catalogs that come in the mail. But I’ve got no bag to save the toilet paper in, so I stuff it into the trash can seconds before Mrs. Tate wanders into the washroom looking for her lipstick.
“I can’t imagine what you and your poor mother are going through with your brother gone,” she says as she rummages through the washroom drawer. “Well, I suppose working hard is the only way to get by.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I say. And she’s right about it too. After Mrs. Tate finds her lipstick, she leaves. But the whole time I’m bathing Ralphie, pinning on his diaper, and dressing him in the sailor outfit, I can’t stop thinking about my brother.
Not till I inhale.
Usually after a bath that boy smells sweet as a lace cookie. But today Ralphie doesn’t smell anything but rotten, so I carry him back to the changing table and clean him up.
Then I take him down to the kitchen and set him in the high chair. “Woof! Woof!” I say,
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