Read Online Free Verse by Sarah Dooley - Free Book Online Page A

used to hearing. “Before you go running off again, just . . . just
wake
me. Then if you still have to run, I’ll run with you.” She rests the back of her warm hand against my cheek for a long moment, but she doesn’t kiss me good night.

9
    For two days, I’m too sick to realize I’m sick. I try to lie perfectly still, and I wonder why the room is spinning. Sometimes Phyllis is there with oatmeal or soup or tea I can’t drink. Sometimes I’m alone in the room and I keep thinking I’m seeing things move in the dark corners.
    By the time I wake on Monday, there’s news I don’t want to hear coming in from the mines, so I’m sick in another way. I stay under the covers.
    The blankets and sheets don’t smell like laundry detergent anymore. They smell like sweat and sickness and me. On Wednesday, the first of May, I feel well enough to escape them. I make my shaky way out to the porch. The world looks wet, like it’s been raining, but it’s much warmer than it was when I was last out. Weak eveningsun turns the porch boards orange, even though I know they’re chipped-paint gray.
    I’m not expecting to see Hubert. He should be in for supper about now. But his screen door creaks open almost as soon as I sit down.
    He doesn’t look like himself in his suit. His hair is slicked back with visible comb streaks, and he keeps tugging at his necktie. Although his outfit matches the ones the news anchors have been wearing on TV, Hubert doesn’t in any way look like those men. He looks uncomfortable and sweaty.
    â€œHi,” I call, raising a hand.
    He raises one back. “Feeling better, little lady?”
    I smile a little. Ben used to call me that, too. “Yep.” I study him. He looks so different today. Behind him, Shirley comes out of the house in a black dress. She’s got Marla in her arms, and Sara toddles beside them. Both little girls are in dark dresses, Sara’s green and Marla’s blue. Marla is fussing and bending over her mother’s arm. She wants down to play. But Shirley must know as well as I do that if she puts Marla down, the baby will go immediately to the muddiest place she can find and the dress will be ruined.
    Sara opens and closes her hands in a baby wave, and I wave back. I watch the door behind her. When Mikey comes out, he’s wearing a suit like his father’s. His hair isso gelled it looks like a solid thing. His face is red and tear-streaked, and I feel a pang of sympathy for him.
    â€œIt’s a prayer vigil,” Hubert’s saying as Mikey follows him down the steps. “You can’t wear sneakers to a prayer vigil, son. I’m sorry.”
    â€œWe’re taking the car,” Shirley says when Mikey darts past her to his father’s pickup.
    â€œI will rot in hell before I ride in that car!” These are the first words I have ever heard Mikey say.
    â€œMikey,” his father warns. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a father, but I had a big brother recently enough that I recognize that tone of voice. I figure Mikey ought to listen.
    But he doesn’t. “If you try to make me go in Shirley’s car, I’ll die and I’ll rot in hell and then you’ll have to get dressed up and go to
my
funeral!”
    â€œWilliam Michael Harless!” I’m relieved to learn that Mikey is his middle name. I want
my
Michael to be the
only
Michael. When Hubert speaks again, his voice has already lowered. “Please get in the car.”
    Mikey backs away, shaking his head. His chin is high. I sit up straighter. Something about how stiffly he’s holding his shoulders, something about the way he keeps shaking his head, is familiar. I can feel it in my own chin, in my own bones. All at once, I have an opinion on the situation next door.
    â€œHe can stay with me,” I call.
    Mikey’s head whips around so fast his gelled hair moves an inch.