Read Online In the After by Demitria Lunetta - Free Book Online
Authors: Demitria Lunetta
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seem to mind, though, and continues signing, glancing at me every once in a while with a smile.
What this? she asks one day of the mark on Baby’s neck. Amber enjoys brushing out Baby’s hair, styling it into different looks. She studies the strange, barely perceivable diamond, traces it with her finger.
I shrug. Baby, show her your scar .
Baby grins and hikes up her skirt to show Amber the scar on the fleshy part of her thigh. Amber lifts up her face and shows us a fine white scar under her chin.
Was fallen . . . She struggles and goes to grab a pen and paper. Amber often writes me notes when she doesn’t have the vocabulary to sign what she wants to say, or when Baby’s hands are going a mile a minute and Amber is lost.
Cheerleading , she scrawls. I was dropped and needed five stitches , she adds proudly.
I try to explain to Baby, but give up when I realize I’d have to describe sports and crowds and girls in short skirts screaming at the top of their lungs to lead other people in screaming at the top of their lungs too. She wouldn’t understand . . . to be honest, I never really understood. I turn to walk away, but Amber stops me.
What’s that thing she just called me? Amber writes, showing me the motion.
I take the pen and paper from her and write what Baby has said. Amber glances at the paper and starts to cry.
Baby has called her sister.
I’m in my room reading when Baby appears at the door. I just heard the trap snap , Baby informs me happily.
I smile. Squirrel or pigeon?
She cocks her head to the side, hearing what is beyond my ability to sense. Can’t tell, but I hope it’s not a squirrel . So do I. Squirrels are a lot of work for very little meat.
Where’s Amber? I ask.
Baby listens intently. In the basement. I can hear her moving around .
I head downstairs and find Amber dancing around with her headphones on. I roll my eyes. When she turns to me, she yelps with a start.
She puts her hand to her chest. Amy scared Amber .
Sorry , I sign. Come .
She follows me upstairs and out into the yard. I show her the no-kill rattrap. Just another thing she has to learn.
Dinner , I tell her.
She scrunches up her nose. I show her how to open the trap, pleased that it caught a rabbit this time. They sometimes burrow under the fence without getting shocked. I reach in quickly and pull it out by its neck, while it squirms. I put one hand on its head and twist as Amber watches, horrified, and I remember the first time I had to kill an animal. I placed the trap, baited it with peanut butter, and waited. It was a pigeon that time. My hands shook when I tried to kill it; I nearly gave up. I almost let it go. I cried afterward and didn’t set another trap for a week. All I could think about was bird-watching with my father and his constant concern with preserving nature and the environment. Now all I am concerned with is self-preservation.
Amber looks like she is about to be sick. It has to be done , I tell her. The little meat we get, no matter how scarce, is welcome. I show her how to skin and clean the rabbit, but I let her go after that. She is a bit pale and looks like she can use the break. I salt the rabbit and place it in the oven to cook.
When I go to the basement, I find Amber and Baby deep in conversation, as deep as two people who don’t understand each other very well can be.
“You would like my brother,” Amber whispers. “He’s real good with little kids.” She signs what words she knows, which are only real, good , and like .
Baby thinks she is talking about her and grins. I really like you too, Amber .
I wonder how often Amber whispers to Baby. If she keeps it up, Baby will begin to understand English. I wonder if she’ll start to talk then, or if the silence has become a part of her.
I step to back away, but Baby hears me and looks up. She narrows her eyes at me, and I’m shocked to realize that she’s unhappy that I’m there. She wants to be alone with Amber. I feel as
What this? she asks one day of the mark on Baby’s neck. Amber enjoys brushing out Baby’s hair, styling it into different looks. She studies the strange, barely perceivable diamond, traces it with her finger.
I shrug. Baby, show her your scar .
Baby grins and hikes up her skirt to show Amber the scar on the fleshy part of her thigh. Amber lifts up her face and shows us a fine white scar under her chin.
Was fallen . . . She struggles and goes to grab a pen and paper. Amber often writes me notes when she doesn’t have the vocabulary to sign what she wants to say, or when Baby’s hands are going a mile a minute and Amber is lost.
Cheerleading , she scrawls. I was dropped and needed five stitches , she adds proudly.
I try to explain to Baby, but give up when I realize I’d have to describe sports and crowds and girls in short skirts screaming at the top of their lungs to lead other people in screaming at the top of their lungs too. She wouldn’t understand . . . to be honest, I never really understood. I turn to walk away, but Amber stops me.
What’s that thing she just called me? Amber writes, showing me the motion.
I take the pen and paper from her and write what Baby has said. Amber glances at the paper and starts to cry.
Baby has called her sister.
I’m in my room reading when Baby appears at the door. I just heard the trap snap , Baby informs me happily.
I smile. Squirrel or pigeon?
She cocks her head to the side, hearing what is beyond my ability to sense. Can’t tell, but I hope it’s not a squirrel . So do I. Squirrels are a lot of work for very little meat.
Where’s Amber? I ask.
Baby listens intently. In the basement. I can hear her moving around .
I head downstairs and find Amber dancing around with her headphones on. I roll my eyes. When she turns to me, she yelps with a start.
She puts her hand to her chest. Amy scared Amber .
Sorry , I sign. Come .
She follows me upstairs and out into the yard. I show her the no-kill rattrap. Just another thing she has to learn.
Dinner , I tell her.
She scrunches up her nose. I show her how to open the trap, pleased that it caught a rabbit this time. They sometimes burrow under the fence without getting shocked. I reach in quickly and pull it out by its neck, while it squirms. I put one hand on its head and twist as Amber watches, horrified, and I remember the first time I had to kill an animal. I placed the trap, baited it with peanut butter, and waited. It was a pigeon that time. My hands shook when I tried to kill it; I nearly gave up. I almost let it go. I cried afterward and didn’t set another trap for a week. All I could think about was bird-watching with my father and his constant concern with preserving nature and the environment. Now all I am concerned with is self-preservation.
Amber looks like she is about to be sick. It has to be done , I tell her. The little meat we get, no matter how scarce, is welcome. I show her how to skin and clean the rabbit, but I let her go after that. She is a bit pale and looks like she can use the break. I salt the rabbit and place it in the oven to cook.
When I go to the basement, I find Amber and Baby deep in conversation, as deep as two people who don’t understand each other very well can be.
“You would like my brother,” Amber whispers. “He’s real good with little kids.” She signs what words she knows, which are only real, good , and like .
Baby thinks she is talking about her and grins. I really like you too, Amber .
I wonder how often Amber whispers to Baby. If she keeps it up, Baby will begin to understand English. I wonder if she’ll start to talk then, or if the silence has become a part of her.
I step to back away, but Baby hears me and looks up. She narrows her eyes at me, and I’m shocked to realize that she’s unhappy that I’m there. She wants to be alone with Amber. I feel as
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