Read Online Naked, on the Edge by Elizabeth Massie - Free Book Online
Authors: Elizabeth Massie
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into his mother's bedroom and dug under the bed while his mother coughed above him. In the shadows beneath the bed, one of the cats blinked at him. He found the lighter on top of a dust-softened sock then crawled back out.
"Thank you, honey." Mom took the lighter, pulled a cigarette from the pack on the little table by the bed, flicked it three times before it would catch, and then settled back into the pillow with a long, raspy draw.
Elliott watched his mother. Her eyes were closed, her cheeks sharp and skeletal. Her nose was runny and her hair was thin and short. The cigarette smoldered in her mouth, the tip glowing and dimming as she sucked on it and eased the smoke out through her lips without even taking the cigarette out.
"Mom?"
"Huh?" The cigarette did not come out; the word was muffled.
"The new phone books are in."
"So?"
"Thought you'd want to know."
The tip of the cigarette grew longer, glowing, smoldering. Then she said, "Our number ain't in it, is it? They put an unlisted number in there I'll sue 'em, I tell you that."
"No, we ain't in there."
The ash on the end of the cigarette trembled.
Elliott wondered how long until it fell to the bed covers.
"Good then. You go watch your T.V. until the teacher comes. I'm tired."
The ash wobbled. If it fell to the bed, it would catch the covers on fire. People who smoked in bed sometimes burned themselves to death, Elliott had heard.
"Go on now," said Mom.
Elliott went on.
Mrs. Anderson knocked on the door just after two o'clock. She was a young woman, hoping to get a permanent job with the county as a reading specialist. Now she was teaching two students on homebound, Elliott and a boy named Richard who lived on the other side of the county and who had polio real bad because his parents never got him his vaccination.
Elliott opened the door and Mrs. Anderson put on her happy-to-see-you smile. Sometimes, when Elliott heard her car out front, he would watch her get out of her car and come up the walk. She never wore that smile when she thought he wasn't watching.
"Elliott, how are you today?" Mrs. Anderson's eyebrows went up. They were funny
eyebrows, drawn thin with a black pencil. Mrs. Anderson always smelled strongly of perfume, as if she didn't like the smells of Elliott's house.
"Okay."
Mrs. Anderson came into the living room, her huge, unbuttoned white spring coat billowing out when she moved.
She removed the coat and hung it on the door knob of the closet. She studied the sofa a moment, and then sat down with her briefcase in her lap. She said she liked cats but Elliott knew better.
Elliott sat on the lawn chair, the only other piece of furniture in the living room except the console television. His teeth found a loose piece of skin on his lower lip and began to chew.
"And your mother," said Mrs. Anderson. She opened her brief case and took out Elliott's lesson plan book. "How is she today?"
"Same," said Elliott.
"Mmm-hmmmm." Mrs. Anderson looked up at Elliott then. Her happy-to-see-you smile was getting heavy, folding back down into an expression of perfunctory purpose. "How are the exercises going?"
"Exercises?"
"We talked yesterday about your weight gain, Elliott. You've put on quite a bit of
weight since you stopped attending school. Without a physical education program daily, you're doing your body a disservice."
"I didn't do any exercises yet. I tried one but my stomach hurt so much I stopped."
Mrs. Anderson sighed. Elliott had heard that sigh many times, from many of the adults at his old elementary school and at the middle school. On the days when Elliott had been put on the bus by his father, he would have severe stomachaches during homeroom. He would go to the guidance office but the counselors would try to talk him into staying. They would sigh that sigh and say, "Elliott, if you just stick it out through lunchtime you'll feel better."
Some of the days he would make it through art class, but then insist on calling his father to
"Thank you, honey." Mom took the lighter, pulled a cigarette from the pack on the little table by the bed, flicked it three times before it would catch, and then settled back into the pillow with a long, raspy draw.
Elliott watched his mother. Her eyes were closed, her cheeks sharp and skeletal. Her nose was runny and her hair was thin and short. The cigarette smoldered in her mouth, the tip glowing and dimming as she sucked on it and eased the smoke out through her lips without even taking the cigarette out.
"Mom?"
"Huh?" The cigarette did not come out; the word was muffled.
"The new phone books are in."
"So?"
"Thought you'd want to know."
The tip of the cigarette grew longer, glowing, smoldering. Then she said, "Our number ain't in it, is it? They put an unlisted number in there I'll sue 'em, I tell you that."
"No, we ain't in there."
The ash on the end of the cigarette trembled.
Elliott wondered how long until it fell to the bed covers.
"Good then. You go watch your T.V. until the teacher comes. I'm tired."
The ash wobbled. If it fell to the bed, it would catch the covers on fire. People who smoked in bed sometimes burned themselves to death, Elliott had heard.
"Go on now," said Mom.
Elliott went on.
Mrs. Anderson knocked on the door just after two o'clock. She was a young woman, hoping to get a permanent job with the county as a reading specialist. Now she was teaching two students on homebound, Elliott and a boy named Richard who lived on the other side of the county and who had polio real bad because his parents never got him his vaccination.
Elliott opened the door and Mrs. Anderson put on her happy-to-see-you smile. Sometimes, when Elliott heard her car out front, he would watch her get out of her car and come up the walk. She never wore that smile when she thought he wasn't watching.
"Elliott, how are you today?" Mrs. Anderson's eyebrows went up. They were funny
eyebrows, drawn thin with a black pencil. Mrs. Anderson always smelled strongly of perfume, as if she didn't like the smells of Elliott's house.
"Okay."
Mrs. Anderson came into the living room, her huge, unbuttoned white spring coat billowing out when she moved.
She removed the coat and hung it on the door knob of the closet. She studied the sofa a moment, and then sat down with her briefcase in her lap. She said she liked cats but Elliott knew better.
Elliott sat on the lawn chair, the only other piece of furniture in the living room except the console television. His teeth found a loose piece of skin on his lower lip and began to chew.
"And your mother," said Mrs. Anderson. She opened her brief case and took out Elliott's lesson plan book. "How is she today?"
"Same," said Elliott.
"Mmm-hmmmm." Mrs. Anderson looked up at Elliott then. Her happy-to-see-you smile was getting heavy, folding back down into an expression of perfunctory purpose. "How are the exercises going?"
"Exercises?"
"We talked yesterday about your weight gain, Elliott. You've put on quite a bit of
weight since you stopped attending school. Without a physical education program daily, you're doing your body a disservice."
"I didn't do any exercises yet. I tried one but my stomach hurt so much I stopped."
Mrs. Anderson sighed. Elliott had heard that sigh many times, from many of the adults at his old elementary school and at the middle school. On the days when Elliott had been put on the bus by his father, he would have severe stomachaches during homeroom. He would go to the guidance office but the counselors would try to talk him into staying. They would sigh that sigh and say, "Elliott, if you just stick it out through lunchtime you'll feel better."
Some of the days he would make it through art class, but then insist on calling his father to
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