Read Online Radio Belly by Buffy Cram - Free Book Online Page A

There were three, peanut butter and jam, carbs and protein, hastily thrown together. I ate all three, one after another. Then I revised my notes in preparation for the meeting.
    At five o’clock on the dot the neighbours filed into the backyard. They arranged themselves along familiar lines—the Andersons clustered next to the Smiths next to the Woodwards, families waving to families across polite distances.
    I cleared my throat and mentioned that I’d been keeping an eye on the hybrids. “We all know they’re sleeping beneath our shrubbery,” I said, “but did you know they are also living inside our houses while we’re at work?”
    Alarmed murmurs.
    â€œYou may not detect the signs at first,” I said, “but I suggest sniffing your pillows, checking the backs of bookshelves for volumes of poetry, philosophy, literary criticism. I suggest steaming up your mirrors and looking for messages written there.”
    They were whispering among themselves and I was beginning to sense skepticism.
    â€œNow you might wonder how it is I know this,” I said. “The truth is, I infiltrated one of their ‘salons’ last night, and what I found was rather fascinating. The funny thing is—” I tried to chuckle, but it worked itself into a frog, then a rattle, then a nineteenth-century cough. “The funny thing is,” I tried again, “I think these people may have something to offer. I think, when you find these clues I’ve mentioned, you might also encounter parts of yourself, long-forgotten parts: books you always meant to read, little notes you scribbled to yourself years ago. You might ask yourself, ‘Who was I before all of this?’ and ‘When did that end and this begin?’ You might reassess, I mean really reassess, and change your priorities. And you might start to wonder, ‘Who’s really free, us or them?’”
    â€œWhere’s Kathy?” Mrs. Park asked.
    â€œShe’ll be home any minute,” I said.
    â€œWhy are you dressed like that?” one of the teenagers asked. Snicker, snicker went the rest.
    â€œWell, I’m locked out and I haven’t had a chance to—”
    â€œYou’re locked out?” someone asked.
    â€œOf your own house?” said someone else.
    â€œWhat exactly is going on with you, Henry?”
    â€œHold on now. Hold on just a minute.” I was that movie actor from It’s a Wonderful Life, overly earnest, trying to control the angry mob. “I gathered you here to tell you about—”
    â€œHow long have you been living in the backyard, Henry?” someone interrupted.
    â€œWait,”—it was one of the teenagers—“didn’t I see you sharing a sandwich with one of them yesterday?”
    â€œYou’re getting this all wrong. This isn’t about me. This is about our community and our way of life—”
    Just then the back door opened. It was Kathy, home from work, and she was ushering the neighbours in the door. Like a funeral procession, each family stopped and whispered their apologies before entering my house. I brought up the back of the line. I whispered an apology too even though I wasn’t sorry for anything, not really.
    â€œYou stay here,” she said, her palm open on my chest. “I need some time.” Her eyes travelled up and down my body, taking in my outfit. “Jesus, Henry,” she said and then shut the door on me. I heard the twist of the lock.
    An hour later the neighbours filed out. I could hear them out front—one bright goodbye after another—but I didn’t go around. I waited by the back door until the sky grew dark from the east and the mosquitoes rose from the ravine. I waited for Kathy until the bedroom lights came on and moths clunked against the windows.
    â€œJennifer,” I called up in a loud whisper, but she must’ve already been asleep.
    I moved to the other