Read Online Ajar by Marianna Boncek - Free Book Online Page B

cattails,
marshes and trees. I used to walk there with my brother all the
time. It had been a long while since I had ridden my bike down
there and walked on the trail.
    Lindy was looking at me. Actually, I wasn’t
sure if she was looking at me or through me. She seemed to be there
but not there at the same time.
    “Uh...thanks,” she finally spoke. “I’d like
to but—” her voice stopped for a second then she continued,
“I...just don’t think I could walk that far.”
    I exhaled, relieved. “That’s OK. I got my
bike. You can ride on the handlebars.”
    She smiled. This time her hand was not
covering her mouth. Even with her dusky teeth, her smile was warm
and genuine.
    We left our books at the circulation desk.
The librarian was very nice to us. She had seen us from our visits
there with Mrs. O’Reilly but I’m not sure if she knew our names or
that my brother was the town’s only serial killer. But, at this
moment, I didn’t really care.
    We went outside and I got my bike. Lindy,
facing away from me, straddled my front tire, grabbed the
handlebars and tried to hop up. She missed. I reached over and put
my hands on her waist to help. There she was mostly sweatshirt
cloth. My fingers almost touched as I tried to grab her waist. I
was afraid to grab too hard, afraid that I might somehow break her.
But, because she was so light, I was able to lift her easily and
set her on the handlebars. She balanced precariously for a moment
and then steadied herself.
    “Hold on,” I told her. I pushed off, Lindy
tottering in front of me.
    “Ride slow!” she admonished.
    She hooked her feet back onto the bike frame
and held tightly to the handlebars. I let her lean into me a bit to
steady her. I rode as slowly as I could but the road to the
lighthouse was mostly downhill. The wind blew her hair into my
face. It was soft, like a baby’s, and delicate against my cheek.
The smell of her was clean and fresh, no perfume. She smelled like
the wind itself. Once down the hill, the path to the lighthouse was
sandy and uneven. I had to push hard on the pedals. About a hundred
feet before the lighthouse, I had to stop riding because the path
was impassable for my bike. We dismounted and I lay my bike by the
side of the path. She was smiling as we walked down the path. Her
gait was a little stiff but so was mine. She reached out and put
her hand on my upper arm to steady herself. She walked as if she
had just gotten off a boat. We walked out of the shroud of cattails
and rushes and out to the lighthouse proper. The Hudson River shone
bold that day, beautiful and calm. We mounted the steps to the deck
around the lighthouse, a breeze picked up our hair. I felt free and
light.
    We leaned on the railing, the brick
lighthouse looming behind us.
    “It’s pretty here,” she said softly. The
wind almost stole her voice.
    “Haven’t you been here before?” I asked.
    “Oh, not since I was a kid,” she
shrugged.
    “I used to come here with my brother all the
time,” I reminisced. “We used to go fishing or just hang out, throw
rocks in the water and that sort of stuff.”
     
    We both stood there awhile, each lost in our
own private reverie, the wind caressing our faces.
    “C’mon,” I said.
    We left the decking and I found a sandy
place for us to sit on the shore of the river. The tide was moving
out and the ground in front of our feet was damp. She picked up
some water chestnut pods.
    “What are these?” she held one up to me.
    “Water chestnut seeds,” I said, “I don’t
think they’re native. I think they came from Europe or Asia or
something like that.”
    “Hmmm...” she felt the shiny black surface,
probed the spikes with her finger. “Sharp.” She put a few in her
baggy pockets.
    I was amazed at how she seemed able to fold
into herself. Sitting there, on the shore, she rested her head on
her knees, hugging her legs close to her. She looked like a folded
beach chair.
    “So, why aren’t you in school?” she