Read Online Can't Get There from Here by Todd Strasser - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Todd Strasser
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the back. I waited, still shaking from the cold outside, my stomach churning hungrily at the thought of food so close.
It seemed like a long time before he came back, but it probably wasn’t that long. He left his coat and hat somewhere and was wearing green corduroy slacks and a green pullover sweater with red and blue and other colors on it.
“That sweatshirt’s all wet,” he said. “Why don’t you take it off, and I’ll put it on the radiator to dry.”
I pulled the sweatshirt over my head. The hood and shoulders were soaked dark. The man held it with the tips of his fingers.
“That’s all you have?” he asked, looking at the torn, black T-shirt I still had on. It was also wet and clung to my shoulders. “You’re so thin. Wait here. I’ll be right back.” He left again, then returned with a white T-shirt and the brown sweater he wore the first time I saw him. The T-shirt said NEW YORK IS BOOK COUNTRY on the front. The sweater had buttons.
“Why don’t you put these on?” He handed them to me.
I took them and looked around.
“You need a place to change,” he realized. “Okay, come with me.” He led me between some tall bookshelves. “You can change here. No one will see. Promiseme you’ll throw that black T-shirt in the garbage.”
He left me there. I looked around to make sure he wasn’t hiding in the other rows watching, then I stripped off the black T-shirt and put on the white one. I didn’t like the sweater. But it felt soft and warm so I put it on.
I came out from the bookshelves. The library man had laid out my sweatshirt over the radiator.
“I’ll be right back,” he said.
Once again I waited, listening to the steam radiators hiss and my stomach rumble. The man returned, drying his hands on some paper towels like he just washed them.
“Okay, let’s make a place for you,” he said, carrying one of the shopping bags over to a small round table. He put out a red plastic plate and a plastic cup, which he filled with Hawaiian Punch. On the plate he put one chocolate, one sugar, and one cinnamon doughnut.
“If you want anything more to eat or drink, I’ll be over in the children’s section.” He pointed toward the side of the library where there were smaller tables and chairs and colorful posters on the walls. He picked up the shopping bags and left.
I ate the doughnuts and drank the punch in no time, but didn’t ask for more right away. I was afraid he might say that was enough and I should leave. I wanted to get warm first. With food in my stomach I got warm faster. I watched the library man spread red tablecloths on the little tables in the children’s room and then put out plates and cups. Now and then he looked in my direction and smiled.
Finally, I picked up my plate and cup and went over to him. The library man was putting books on the tables. Most of them showed a round-faced black man on the cover.
“Who’s that?” I asked.
“Martin Luther King,” the library man answered. “A very good man who made a difference for many people.”
I held up my empty plate and cup.
“I thought you might still be hungry.” He filled my cup again and gave me three more doughnuts. I went back to the table at the front of the library and ate them. No one would ever write books about me. I would never make a difference to anyone.
Outside cars, trucks, and buses started going up and down the streets, their windshield wipers swiping back and forth. The snow was still coming down in big white clumps, but the streets slowly turned into gray slush. The same with the sidewalks where more and more people were now walking. I sat at the small round table and watched through the big windows. It felt good to be in a warm place.
After a while the library man came over. “Still hungry?” he asked.
I shook my head.
“I want you to know that Bobby will be coming in soon. If you want to stay I promise that he won’t hurt you. You have as much right to use this library as anyone
It seemed like a long time before he came back, but it probably wasn’t that long. He left his coat and hat somewhere and was wearing green corduroy slacks and a green pullover sweater with red and blue and other colors on it.
“That sweatshirt’s all wet,” he said. “Why don’t you take it off, and I’ll put it on the radiator to dry.”
I pulled the sweatshirt over my head. The hood and shoulders were soaked dark. The man held it with the tips of his fingers.
“That’s all you have?” he asked, looking at the torn, black T-shirt I still had on. It was also wet and clung to my shoulders. “You’re so thin. Wait here. I’ll be right back.” He left again, then returned with a white T-shirt and the brown sweater he wore the first time I saw him. The T-shirt said NEW YORK IS BOOK COUNTRY on the front. The sweater had buttons.
“Why don’t you put these on?” He handed them to me.
I took them and looked around.
“You need a place to change,” he realized. “Okay, come with me.” He led me between some tall bookshelves. “You can change here. No one will see. Promiseme you’ll throw that black T-shirt in the garbage.”
He left me there. I looked around to make sure he wasn’t hiding in the other rows watching, then I stripped off the black T-shirt and put on the white one. I didn’t like the sweater. But it felt soft and warm so I put it on.
I came out from the bookshelves. The library man had laid out my sweatshirt over the radiator.
“I’ll be right back,” he said.
Once again I waited, listening to the steam radiators hiss and my stomach rumble. The man returned, drying his hands on some paper towels like he just washed them.
“Okay, let’s make a place for you,” he said, carrying one of the shopping bags over to a small round table. He put out a red plastic plate and a plastic cup, which he filled with Hawaiian Punch. On the plate he put one chocolate, one sugar, and one cinnamon doughnut.
“If you want anything more to eat or drink, I’ll be over in the children’s section.” He pointed toward the side of the library where there were smaller tables and chairs and colorful posters on the walls. He picked up the shopping bags and left.
I ate the doughnuts and drank the punch in no time, but didn’t ask for more right away. I was afraid he might say that was enough and I should leave. I wanted to get warm first. With food in my stomach I got warm faster. I watched the library man spread red tablecloths on the little tables in the children’s room and then put out plates and cups. Now and then he looked in my direction and smiled.
Finally, I picked up my plate and cup and went over to him. The library man was putting books on the tables. Most of them showed a round-faced black man on the cover.
“Who’s that?” I asked.
“Martin Luther King,” the library man answered. “A very good man who made a difference for many people.”
I held up my empty plate and cup.
“I thought you might still be hungry.” He filled my cup again and gave me three more doughnuts. I went back to the table at the front of the library and ate them. No one would ever write books about me. I would never make a difference to anyone.
Outside cars, trucks, and buses started going up and down the streets, their windshield wipers swiping back and forth. The snow was still coming down in big white clumps, but the streets slowly turned into gray slush. The same with the sidewalks where more and more people were now walking. I sat at the small round table and watched through the big windows. It felt good to be in a warm place.
After a while the library man came over. “Still hungry?” he asked.
I shook my head.
“I want you to know that Bobby will be coming in soon. If you want to stay I promise that he won’t hurt you. You have as much right to use this library as anyone
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