Read Online Behind You by Jacqueline Woodson - Free Book Online

we’re pressing on.”
    â€œYep.”
    â€œNo girlfriend, huh?”
    â€œNope.”
    She looked at me. Then without blinking she said, “Boyfriend?”
    â€œNah. Just me. Just me trying to figure it all out.” It felt like something heavy lifted up off of me. I took a breath and the breath came easily. Ellie hadn’t even blinked.
    â€œI think the figuring out takes forever,” she said. “It seems like everybody’s trying to figure something out.”
    â€œHow about you—what’s your thing? The thing you’re trying to figure out? I mean, besides how to hop back onto the world.”
    Ellie shrugged. “I don’t know, really—I mean, I guess that’s the thing. How do we go on? How do we get back on the world and move along?”
    â€œWell . . .” I sat down on the couch beside her. “I guess this is a step, huh? You ringing my bell.”
    Ellie smiled again. “I guess.”
    â€œIt’s a big day for me,” I said.
    â€œ ’Cause I rang your bell?”
    I took another sip of water. She hadn’t even blinked when she asked about a boyfriend. And here I was thinking there’d be the world exploding out from under me.
    â€œYeah,” I said. “Glad you crossed that street and rang my bell.”
    â€œWell, then I guess I’ll have to do it again sometime.”
    â€œYou better.”
    â€œAnd maybe one day you can cross that bridge to Manhattan.”
    â€œMaybe—it’s a long bridge.”
    Ellie nudged me with her shoulder and smiled. I nudged her back.
    â€œNah, really, though,” I said. “Thanks.”
    â€œDon’t thank me. Nelia’s the one who pointed your house out and suggested I come say hi. I just followed the music.”
    I started singing the song again. Ellie listened and after a moment she joined in—her voice high and soft in a way that blended nicely. I was surprised she knew the words, but didn’t stop to ask her about it.
    â€œAnd I saw my reflection . . . ”
    When the song ended, we sat there drinking our water and staring outside. It grew dark, but I didn’t turn on any lights. Somewhere someone was playing a Stevie Wonder tune. Somewhere else, a little kid was singing her ABC’s. Then the block got quiet. And another day was almost over.

Kennedy
    SUNDAY, MY MOMS WAKES ME UP EARLY AND I TAKE A SHOWER, grease my braids a little and put on some decent clothes. She’s already dressed, wearing dark blue, her black coat and pocketbook on the couch next to her Bible.
    â€œMade you some bacon and eggs,” she says when I come out of the bathroom. She sets the plate down on the kitchen table and smiles at me. “Don’t you look nice.”
    I smile back, sit down and say, “So do you.”
    Sunday mornings, I miss my dad the most. His chair across from mine is empty. In our building some of the kids got dads and some don’t. Some of them never met their dads and some see them on weekends.
    Sunday mornings, we go to church and then go see my dad.
    The whole time the preacher’s preaching, I’m thinking about my dad. If anybody asked, I’d say he was good—like in his heart, he was good. You’d see him coming down the street and he was always carrying some lady’s bag or helping somebody with one of their kids or giving some poor chump some spare change. That’s the kind of guy I remember him being—somebody who was always thinking about other people. I guess somebody like that should have gone out real tragic—like, shot or something—like Miah. But he didn’t. He went out early because he had a whacked heart. Something from when he was young that just stayed on and caught him when he was thirty-seven. Makes you always think about how you’re living.
    Â 
    Even though it’s freezing, the cemetery is hopping. Sunday seems to be Visit the Dead Day—people walking