Read Online Make Something Up by Chuck Palahniuk - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Chuck Palahniuk
Ads: Link
budge. Their service provider was a satellite company, but lousy Internet access wasn’t tragic, not when a single keystroke could bring all the filth and degradation of the world into a person’s peaceful, bright kitchen. These days it took real effort to keep purity in a child’s life. High-speed connectivity wasn’t worth Lisa’s innocence. That was a fact her mother wouldn’t accept. One of many.
On the phone was Stu Gilcrest from down the road. He said, “Your girl was just by here.”
That’s how good neighbors behaved. Theirs was a community where people kept tabs on one another’s loved ones. Randall told him that, come July, Lisa would be around a lot more.
“All summer?” Stu marveled. “She’s become a lovely little lady. You must be very proud.” Something in his tone sounded subdued. He was keeping something back.
Randall thanked him. Sensing there was something else, he waited.
Over the phone, Stu said, “I see she’s got herself a new horse.”
Randall explained about Sour Kraut dying and bragged how he’d looked far and wide for a replacement. He waited for Stu to exclaim about the Arabian. Its beauty. The gentle manner of it.
When Stu spoke he’d lost his friendly, neighborly tone. “Nobody hopes I’m wrong more than I do.” His words dropped to almost a growl. “But if I’m not mistaken, that’s Red Sultan’s Big Boy, isn’t it?”
Randall was taken aback. A chill of dread embraced him. He ventured, “That there’s a fine, fine horse.”
Stu didn’t respond, not that instant. He cleared his throat. He swallowed. “Randall,” he began, “we’ve been neighbors since way back.”
“Since three generations,” Randall agreed. He asked what was the matter.
“All I’m saying,” Stu spat the words, “is that you and Lisa will always be welcome on our place.”
Randall asked, “Stu?”
“It’s none of my business,” his neighbor stammered, “but Glenda and I would much appreciate you not bringing that animal onto our property.” This sounded as if it hurt to say.
Randall asked if he meant the horse. Had Lisa or the horse done anything to offend? The Gilcrests had a couple of girls near to Lisa’s age. Girls could take offense and catfight and patch things up faster than a bolt of August heat lightning. They loved the drama.
The phone line clicked. A female voice joined the conversation. Stu’s wife, Glenda. Randall pictured her on the extension, sitting on their bed. She said, “Randall, please understand. We can’t have our girls anywhere near your place. Not until that horse is destroyed.” Against Randall’s protest, they both said good-bye and hung up.
Over the next four hours, almost all of the neighbors called. The Hawkins. The Ramirezes. The Coys and Shandys and Turners. It was clear that the group of riders was making a slow circuit of the district, taking County Road 17 to Boundary Lane, after that moving west along Sky Ridge Trail. They were paying calls at every girl’s house or the home of a relative. It was this series of mothers, fathers, aunts, uncles, grandparents, and cousins who were telephoning in quick succession. After a few strained words of hello, each caller asked if Lisa wasn’t in fact riding Red Sultan’s Big Boy. And when Randall told them, yes, that was the case, to a person they informed him that the horse was unwelcome in the future. Furthermore, none of them would be calling at his place if the horse was on the property.
Lisa had been forced to ride the last leg of the circuit alone. By midafternoon, all her girlfriends had been forbidden to ac-company her another step. Even as she trotted up to the house, abandoned by her friends, she didn’t seem daunted. Her head held high, her back straight, if anything, she seemed smug. Triumphant, even.
The phone calls left Randall prepared for the worst. He expected to find the horse hostile and skittish, but the Arabian was gentle. As placid and sweet-natured as ever. As
On the phone was Stu Gilcrest from down the road. He said, “Your girl was just by here.”
That’s how good neighbors behaved. Theirs was a community where people kept tabs on one another’s loved ones. Randall told him that, come July, Lisa would be around a lot more.
“All summer?” Stu marveled. “She’s become a lovely little lady. You must be very proud.” Something in his tone sounded subdued. He was keeping something back.
Randall thanked him. Sensing there was something else, he waited.
Over the phone, Stu said, “I see she’s got herself a new horse.”
Randall explained about Sour Kraut dying and bragged how he’d looked far and wide for a replacement. He waited for Stu to exclaim about the Arabian. Its beauty. The gentle manner of it.
When Stu spoke he’d lost his friendly, neighborly tone. “Nobody hopes I’m wrong more than I do.” His words dropped to almost a growl. “But if I’m not mistaken, that’s Red Sultan’s Big Boy, isn’t it?”
Randall was taken aback. A chill of dread embraced him. He ventured, “That there’s a fine, fine horse.”
Stu didn’t respond, not that instant. He cleared his throat. He swallowed. “Randall,” he began, “we’ve been neighbors since way back.”
“Since three generations,” Randall agreed. He asked what was the matter.
“All I’m saying,” Stu spat the words, “is that you and Lisa will always be welcome on our place.”
Randall asked, “Stu?”
“It’s none of my business,” his neighbor stammered, “but Glenda and I would much appreciate you not bringing that animal onto our property.” This sounded as if it hurt to say.
Randall asked if he meant the horse. Had Lisa or the horse done anything to offend? The Gilcrests had a couple of girls near to Lisa’s age. Girls could take offense and catfight and patch things up faster than a bolt of August heat lightning. They loved the drama.
The phone line clicked. A female voice joined the conversation. Stu’s wife, Glenda. Randall pictured her on the extension, sitting on their bed. She said, “Randall, please understand. We can’t have our girls anywhere near your place. Not until that horse is destroyed.” Against Randall’s protest, they both said good-bye and hung up.
Over the next four hours, almost all of the neighbors called. The Hawkins. The Ramirezes. The Coys and Shandys and Turners. It was clear that the group of riders was making a slow circuit of the district, taking County Road 17 to Boundary Lane, after that moving west along Sky Ridge Trail. They were paying calls at every girl’s house or the home of a relative. It was this series of mothers, fathers, aunts, uncles, grandparents, and cousins who were telephoning in quick succession. After a few strained words of hello, each caller asked if Lisa wasn’t in fact riding Red Sultan’s Big Boy. And when Randall told them, yes, that was the case, to a person they informed him that the horse was unwelcome in the future. Furthermore, none of them would be calling at his place if the horse was on the property.
Lisa had been forced to ride the last leg of the circuit alone. By midafternoon, all her girlfriends had been forbidden to ac-company her another step. Even as she trotted up to the house, abandoned by her friends, she didn’t seem daunted. Her head held high, her back straight, if anything, she seemed smug. Triumphant, even.
The phone calls left Randall prepared for the worst. He expected to find the horse hostile and skittish, but the Arabian was gentle. As placid and sweet-natured as ever. As
Similar Books
