Read Online Choke by Chuck Palahniuk - Free Book Online

to deal with. Eva just stares at me with her big hyperthyroid eyes until a big tear splurts out of one eye and cuts through the powder on her wrinkled cheek.
    I roll my eyes at the ceiling and say, “Okay, I hurt your little woo-woo, but that was eighty frigging years ago, so get over it. Move on with your life.”
    Then her horrible hands come up, wasted and veined as tree roots or old carrots, and they cover her face. “Oh, Colin,” she says behind them. “Oh, Colin.”
    She takes her hands away, and her face is hosed with eye juice. “Oh, Colin,” she whispers, “I forgive you.” And her face nods toward her chest, bobbing with short breaths and sniffs, and her terrible hands bring the edge of her bib up to wipe at her eyes.
    We just sit there. Jeez, I wish I had some chewing gum. My watch says twelve thirty-five.
    She wipes her eyes and sniffs and looks up a little. “Colin,” she says. “Do you still love me?”
    These frigging old people. Jesus H.
    And just in case you’re wondering, I’m not a monster.
    Just like something in a frigging book, for real I say, “Yeah, Eva.” I say, “Yeah, for sure, I guess I can probably still love you.”
    Eva sobs now, her face hanging over her lap, her whole body rocking. “I’m so glad,” she says, her tears dropping straight, gray stuff from her nose dripping right into her empty hands.
    She says, “I’m so glad,” and she’s still crying, and you can smell the chewed-up Salisbury steak squirreled away in her shoe, the chewed mushroom chicken in the pocket of her smock. That, and the damn nurse is never going to get my mom back from her shower, and I have to be back at work in the eighteenth century by one o’clock.
    It’s hard enough remembering my own past so I can do my fourth step. Now it’s mixed up with the past of these other people. Which defense attorney I am, today, I can’t remember. I look at my fingernails. I ask Eva, “Is Dr. Marshall here, do you think?” I ask, “Do you know if she’s married?”
    The truth about myself, who I really am, my father and everything, if my mom knows then she’s too freaked out with guilt to tell.
    I ask Eva, “Could you maybe cry somewhere else?”
    Then it’s too late. The Blue Jay starts singing.
    And Eva, she still won’t shut up, crying and rocking, her bib pressed to her face, the plastic bracelet trembling around one wrist, she’s saying, “I forgive you, Colin. I forgive you. I forgive you. Oh, Colin, I forgive … ”

Chapter 9

    It was one afternoon when our stupid little boy and his foster mother were in a shopping mall that they heard the announcement. This was summer, and they were shopping for back to school, the year he was going to be in fifth grade. The year you had to wear shirts with stripes to really fit in. This was years and years ago. This was only his first foster mother.
    Up-and-down stripes, he was telling her when they heard it.
    The announcement:
    “Would Dr. Paul Ward,” the voice told everybody, “please meet your wife in the cosmetics department of Woolworth’s.”
    This was the first time the Mommy came back to claim him.
    “Dr. Ward, please meet your wife in the cosmetics department of Woolworth’s.”
    That was the secret signal.
    So the kid lied and said he needed to find the bathroom and instead he went to Woolworth’s, and there, opening boxes of hair color, was the Mommy. She had a big yellow wig that made her face look too small and smelled like cigarettes. With her fingernails, she opened each box and took out the dark brown bottle of dye inside. She’d open another box and take out the other bottle. She put the one bottle in the other box and put it back on the shelf. She opened another box.
    “This one’s pretty,” the Mommy said, looking at the picture of a woman smiling on the box. She switched the bottle inside with another bottle. All the bottles the same dark brown glass.
    Opening another box, she said, “Do you think she’s pretty?”
    And