Read Online I Can Hear the Mourning Dove by James Bennett - Free Book Online
Authors: James Bennett
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canât understand any of this. My mother is so supportive but the stereo is too loud. Iâm going flat out again and Iâm tired of talking. Why did DeeDee have to come?
âDoes he have to play that stereo so loud? Canât we do something?â
âItâs not as bad as it usually is,â she says. âI could call the landlord, maybe.â
âPlease letâs donât talk about it, Mother. Can I help you cut out letters?â
âSure, if you want. The other scissors are on the telephone stand.â
9/12
Dear Diary:
From my balcony I can see the beer bottles on the ground and in the street. Some of them are broken. There was a party last night in the neighborhood, except I couldnât really call it a party and I couldnât really call this a neighborhood. It was more like roving gangs. I watched it all from my niche. There were crowds of college students in the parking lot across the street, playing loud stereos and pouring beer. The Surly People threw beer bottles and firecrackers at them. At two in the morning, my mom called the police. The police came and directed a long line of traffic out onto MacArthur. It reminded me of parking lot traffic at the county fair .
I put the diary away and go into the bathroom. The next time I see Dr. Rowe, she will ask me about what Iâve written. I donât know if she wants to know about the Surly People; I could tell her things, but Iâm not sure she would want to hear them. The cracked mirror splices my face; I can see my left eye twice and the tip of my nose twice. I need to hurry now; Mother is gone to school and Iâm running late.
I lock the apartment and walk fast. I canât get to MacArthur Street without passing the IGA parking lot. Lots of Surly People are congregated there, near the curb. They are leaning on their cars, smoking cigarettes, drinking Pepsis, and eating candy bars. They hurl their trash around. They are lighting firecrackers and throwing them at each other.
They are the usual ones from our parking lot, and also many others. The one called DeWayne is there, and Brenda, and one called Butch, who has his hair cut very short with arrows shaved in it, right down to the scalp. Is he just bizarre, or is he evil?
Iâm very afraid to walk in this place. There must be another route I could take to school, but 14th Street is a dead end. I walk faster; I try to go past the lot without looking to the right or to the left. I hope and pray that they will ignore me, but sometimes they donât.
âWoof woof. Hey, woof woof.â
âBow wow. Bow wow wow.â
I canât look at them. I mustnât look. There is a burst of laughter, but I walk straight ahead. My heart is pounding wild in my chest and my legs are starting to shake. I shouldnât have written in the diary; writing in the diary made me late.
âHey bow wow, here boy.â
âWoof woof.â
They are whistling as if to call a dog. There are more bursts of laughter. I make it to the corner but I have to wait for traffic; there are tears stinging my eyes and Iâm starting to shake. I can still hear the loud whistles and the loud laughter. Why do they do this to me? What kind of cruelty is it?
I make it across the street, choking back my tears. All the way to school, Iâve still got the shakes; my brain is a chain of flashbulbs. Inside the school, I donât stop at my homeroom, I go straight to the bathroom. I have to pee so bad Iâm afraid Iâm going to wet my pants.
I get relief and wash my face in front of the mirror and the mist is coming: Iâm going to get scrambled. Somehow, I make it to the library and sit among the stacks. Libraries are such safe places; I am scrambled in the mist but I am safe here. Anyway the aftermath will come and the world will have the aura of a dream.
When lunchtime comes, DeeDee sits with me. It is the first time I have eaten in the cafeteria instead of the
âDoes he have to play that stereo so loud? Canât we do something?â
âItâs not as bad as it usually is,â she says. âI could call the landlord, maybe.â
âPlease letâs donât talk about it, Mother. Can I help you cut out letters?â
âSure, if you want. The other scissors are on the telephone stand.â
9/12
Dear Diary:
From my balcony I can see the beer bottles on the ground and in the street. Some of them are broken. There was a party last night in the neighborhood, except I couldnât really call it a party and I couldnât really call this a neighborhood. It was more like roving gangs. I watched it all from my niche. There were crowds of college students in the parking lot across the street, playing loud stereos and pouring beer. The Surly People threw beer bottles and firecrackers at them. At two in the morning, my mom called the police. The police came and directed a long line of traffic out onto MacArthur. It reminded me of parking lot traffic at the county fair .
I put the diary away and go into the bathroom. The next time I see Dr. Rowe, she will ask me about what Iâve written. I donât know if she wants to know about the Surly People; I could tell her things, but Iâm not sure she would want to hear them. The cracked mirror splices my face; I can see my left eye twice and the tip of my nose twice. I need to hurry now; Mother is gone to school and Iâm running late.
I lock the apartment and walk fast. I canât get to MacArthur Street without passing the IGA parking lot. Lots of Surly People are congregated there, near the curb. They are leaning on their cars, smoking cigarettes, drinking Pepsis, and eating candy bars. They hurl their trash around. They are lighting firecrackers and throwing them at each other.
They are the usual ones from our parking lot, and also many others. The one called DeWayne is there, and Brenda, and one called Butch, who has his hair cut very short with arrows shaved in it, right down to the scalp. Is he just bizarre, or is he evil?
Iâm very afraid to walk in this place. There must be another route I could take to school, but 14th Street is a dead end. I walk faster; I try to go past the lot without looking to the right or to the left. I hope and pray that they will ignore me, but sometimes they donât.
âWoof woof. Hey, woof woof.â
âBow wow. Bow wow wow.â
I canât look at them. I mustnât look. There is a burst of laughter, but I walk straight ahead. My heart is pounding wild in my chest and my legs are starting to shake. I shouldnât have written in the diary; writing in the diary made me late.
âHey bow wow, here boy.â
âWoof woof.â
They are whistling as if to call a dog. There are more bursts of laughter. I make it to the corner but I have to wait for traffic; there are tears stinging my eyes and Iâm starting to shake. I can still hear the loud whistles and the loud laughter. Why do they do this to me? What kind of cruelty is it?
I make it across the street, choking back my tears. All the way to school, Iâve still got the shakes; my brain is a chain of flashbulbs. Inside the school, I donât stop at my homeroom, I go straight to the bathroom. I have to pee so bad Iâm afraid Iâm going to wet my pants.
I get relief and wash my face in front of the mirror and the mist is coming: Iâm going to get scrambled. Somehow, I make it to the library and sit among the stacks. Libraries are such safe places; I am scrambled in the mist but I am safe here. Anyway the aftermath will come and the world will have the aura of a dream.
When lunchtime comes, DeeDee sits with me. It is the first time I have eaten in the cafeteria instead of the
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