Read Online Gypsy Davey by Chris Lynch - Free Book Online Page B

Davey. But what she had done, the one and only thing she always knew she could do for him, was that she made sure it wouldn’t happen while she was around. She had that one nugget of the universe to hold, and she’d held it. It wasn’t much, but it was the one thing she could truly, surely do for him.
    Joanne’s hulking, mumbling, grimy sometimes boyfriend Phil came over and wedged his big butt between Davey and Joanne on the step. “Pretty tough, babe,” he said, kissing her on the bloody lip, then licking it off. “But, ah, but you know, you know how it is here, don’tcha?”
    She straightened up, fear finally in her face.
    â€œWell, what, Jo?” he said, as if the situation were honestly out of his hands. “Did you think you could go around it? Jus’ ’cause you say no?”
    â€œNo, Phil,” she pleaded, grabbing his hand. “He’s only little.”
    â€œAin’t neither, babe. He’s big as you. Not too much behind me, even.”
    â€œBut, Phil, he’s only—”
    Phil held up his great big hand, walling her off. “But I tell you what we can do. Because it’s you, Joanne. Maybe we can make a sorta axception.”
    Joanne relaxed.
    â€œHold on a second,” Phil said, turning away from Joanne toward Davey. Davey looked up at Phil, the wide eyes waiting, like always.
    With a quick flick of his forearm, Phil punched Davey. Cracked him in the eye a half-speed poke about like a Ping-Pong stroke. He didn’t follow through, pulled his meaty fist back as soon as it landed. His concession to Davey and Joanne.
    Everyone sat frozen, even Joanne. Phil stood up over Davey, who had fallen backward and now lay over two steps, holding his eye.
    â€œAnd that’s it.” Phil addressed the crowd, who didn’t seem to care. “This young man is all paid up.” He leaned over and pulled Davey up to sitting position, “What is your name again?”
    â€œDavey,” Davey answered, removing his hand to expose an already swelling, bluing eye.
    â€œNobody hits Davey no more.”
    â€œYo Phil, yo Phil, yo Phil,” the lions chanted, something they’d clearly had to practice for.
    Phil sat back down next to Joanne. “See, babe, I took care a ya.”
    Joanne looked at nobody. Tears welled in her eyes but did not fall. Instead she tipped her head back and spit. Spit blood, through the space in her front teeth, a high, arcing stream better than any ballplayer with tobacco juice, clearing the sidewalk to land in the oily street.
    Davey leaned toward Joanne, right over Phil as if he weren’t there. “You okay, Jo?” he asked. “You need me?”
    She just leaned back on her elbows and stared off blankly, like the rest of the lions. Phil put his arm around her and leered. Jo sighed but didn’t resist. Now Phil had to be repaid. For his kindness.

REGULAR COOL
    I’m on my bike. It’s cool on my bike. Always is, cool, the only place that is. I don’t mean cool like aren’t I the big man and doesn’t everybody wish he was me. I just mean regular cool. Like the weather isn’t so hot on my bike the way it seems to be everywhere else. The breeze puffs nice over my brow and stops the heat that’s always under there. And I’ve got a lot of brow.
    And with the cooling, the thoughts, my thoughts, come easy and orderly and slow the way I figure everybody else’s thoughts come all the time.
    I stayed on my bike one time, last weekend, for twenty-four hours straight. Mostly just to see if I could do it. Not moving every second of the time, but pretty much. Sometimes I took a break to just straddle the bike for a few minutesand watch stuff, but then I’d get all nervous and sweaty and jumbled again until I pedaled it away. Where I went in twenty-four hours of biking was everywhere. I rode out ten miles late Saturday afternoon, all the way to the quarry. Sometimes I