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Authors: John Corey Whaley
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with bright red. Alma began to say things like “You bastard,” and “What the hell are you doing?” until shenoticed the blood in my hand and I turned around to show her the large, deep cut.
A really awkward phone call home to my parents, a trip to the hospital, seven stitches, and two and a half hours later, I found myself sitting on Alma Ember’s bed. I was completely naked save for a pair of gold-toed socks and a cross necklace that I’d found in my brother’s room. Alma Ember wore even less than that. After she showed me what being a good wife had taught her—her words, not mine—I fell asleep under the watchful eyes of a dozen or so porcelain dolls.
When one wakes up alone in a partially married woman’s childhood bedroom as her mother is vacuuming the carpet and smiling, he thinks about turning into some sort of liquid that could melt right into the bed and seep into the floor and under the house. When he realizes that he is still very naked and covered only by a thin white sheet, he closes his eyes as tightly as possible and prays for God to make a tornado rip through the house and carry the woman away so that he may slip out and make it to his afternoon shift at work. Alma’s mother begins to whistle as she vacuums right beside where his face is resting, and then she turns off the vacuum with her foot. She looks down at Cullen Witter as he looks up at her with dread and shame. She leans down, kisses him on the forehead, and continues on with her vacuuming until she exits the room, still whistling the same tune.
“How was it?” Lucas Cader asked me as he hopped up onto the counter at Handy Stop that afternoon.
“Don’t be a perv,” I said back.
“I can’t believe you just went over there like that. Crazy.”
“I know. I was bored.”
“I wouldn’t say bored so much as you were a little bit—”
“Don’t say it, Lucas,” I said. He said it anyway before hopping down from the counter and grabbing a bag of Doritos.
“We should go to that town meeting tomorrow,” he said with a mouth full of chips.
“Why? They haven’t even found the damn thing yet.”
“Because. It’s something going on here. Lily has an event. We
have
to go.”
“You can go. I can’t be around all those people. Too many ‘I’m so sorry’ faces.”
“Come on. Don’t you want to meet the famous John Barling?” Lucas asked sarcastically.
“Oh yeah. I wonder if he’d sign my imaginary autograph book with his imaginary pen from his office where he writes articles about imaginary birds,” I joked.
“It
could
be real, don’t you think?”
“I think I don’t care. I’m tired of seeing posters for that bird in the place of posters for my brother. I’m tired of reading articles about that bird instead of ones about my brother, and I’m tired of hearing John Barling’s voice on the radio and seeing his face on the TV when he is talking about that bird instead of talking about my brother.”
“Shit,” Lucas Cader said quietly.
“Shit, indeed,” I replied.
Book Title #77:
Praying for Tornadoes.
C HAPTER S IX
Benton Sage
Benton Sage found his reception to be somewhat lukewarm when he returned to Atlanta that humid June morning. His father leaned against a wall, arms crossed and eyes glaring at the floor as if to indicate that he did not wish to be spoken to. His mother hugged his neck in a way that suggested he needed a hug very badly. And his sisters, the twins, kissed each of his cheeks before saying, “Welcome home, brother,” and walking toward the escalator.
Benton would learn later that day that Reverend Hughes wished to see him as soon as possible. Benton assumed that he had already been given another, better mission to serve his church. In Reverend Hughes’s large office, the sun filtering throughthe stained glass heated up the room to a sweat-inducing temperature. Benton wiped his forehead clean as Reverend Hughes began to speak.
“Benton,” he said, “you
A really awkward phone call home to my parents, a trip to the hospital, seven stitches, and two and a half hours later, I found myself sitting on Alma Ember’s bed. I was completely naked save for a pair of gold-toed socks and a cross necklace that I’d found in my brother’s room. Alma Ember wore even less than that. After she showed me what being a good wife had taught her—her words, not mine—I fell asleep under the watchful eyes of a dozen or so porcelain dolls.
When one wakes up alone in a partially married woman’s childhood bedroom as her mother is vacuuming the carpet and smiling, he thinks about turning into some sort of liquid that could melt right into the bed and seep into the floor and under the house. When he realizes that he is still very naked and covered only by a thin white sheet, he closes his eyes as tightly as possible and prays for God to make a tornado rip through the house and carry the woman away so that he may slip out and make it to his afternoon shift at work. Alma’s mother begins to whistle as she vacuums right beside where his face is resting, and then she turns off the vacuum with her foot. She looks down at Cullen Witter as he looks up at her with dread and shame. She leans down, kisses him on the forehead, and continues on with her vacuuming until she exits the room, still whistling the same tune.
“How was it?” Lucas Cader asked me as he hopped up onto the counter at Handy Stop that afternoon.
“Don’t be a perv,” I said back.
“I can’t believe you just went over there like that. Crazy.”
“I know. I was bored.”
“I wouldn’t say bored so much as you were a little bit—”
“Don’t say it, Lucas,” I said. He said it anyway before hopping down from the counter and grabbing a bag of Doritos.
“We should go to that town meeting tomorrow,” he said with a mouth full of chips.
“Why? They haven’t even found the damn thing yet.”
“Because. It’s something going on here. Lily has an event. We
have
to go.”
“You can go. I can’t be around all those people. Too many ‘I’m so sorry’ faces.”
“Come on. Don’t you want to meet the famous John Barling?” Lucas asked sarcastically.
“Oh yeah. I wonder if he’d sign my imaginary autograph book with his imaginary pen from his office where he writes articles about imaginary birds,” I joked.
“It
could
be real, don’t you think?”
“I think I don’t care. I’m tired of seeing posters for that bird in the place of posters for my brother. I’m tired of reading articles about that bird instead of ones about my brother, and I’m tired of hearing John Barling’s voice on the radio and seeing his face on the TV when he is talking about that bird instead of talking about my brother.”
“Shit,” Lucas Cader said quietly.
“Shit, indeed,” I replied.
Book Title #77:
Praying for Tornadoes.
C HAPTER S IX
Benton Sage
Benton Sage found his reception to be somewhat lukewarm when he returned to Atlanta that humid June morning. His father leaned against a wall, arms crossed and eyes glaring at the floor as if to indicate that he did not wish to be spoken to. His mother hugged his neck in a way that suggested he needed a hug very badly. And his sisters, the twins, kissed each of his cheeks before saying, “Welcome home, brother,” and walking toward the escalator.
Benton would learn later that day that Reverend Hughes wished to see him as soon as possible. Benton assumed that he had already been given another, better mission to serve his church. In Reverend Hughes’s large office, the sun filtering throughthe stained glass heated up the room to a sweat-inducing temperature. Benton wiped his forehead clean as Reverend Hughes began to speak.
“Benton,” he said, “you
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