Read Online Red Girl Rat Boy by Cynthia Flood - Free Book Online

brother, he’s wait for you.” Closer. “Take you out, breakfast treat, Canada Day!”
    â€œEric’s here?”
    â€œDining room.”
    Annabel grabbed the Velcro.
    â€œStupid!” Sally.
    â€œDon’t believe her!” Lorraine.
    Ninety-five pounds and years, her hair a thick silver crown, Annabel scooted out, her heels so keratinous they sounded tak-tak-tak.
    Across the hall, a TV blared. In the criminal justice system the people are represented by two separate, but equally important, groups: the police, who. . .
    Whir whir, the Wanderer’s chair.
    Clack clack of stilettos. “Hey you! Thief, and dangerous driver. You’ve been expelled before. Don’t think it can’t happen here.”
    Then to Teevee-gal, shouting, “I said, Keep the volume down!”
    Next across the hall to 17-A, shoving at Lily’s trolley. “How many times have I told you, Don’t leave supplies by an open door!” She brandished a litre of surface cleanser, ivory in her black hand. “Do you speak English?”
    Stone-faced, Lily exited 17-A and waited for Josie, another aide, to accompany her into Mr. Chang’s room. Its other resident, Big Man, attacked staff.
    â€œRemember,” the Boss Lady told Sally and Lorraine, “these people keep you alive. I want no complaints.”
    Transfer arrived.
    Â 
    Sally’s busy morning
    Maybe there’d be pancakes for breakfast?
    Waiting. Calendar, meanwhile.
    Always she ticked off the weekday Activities—Mon Bingo , Tues News & Views, Wed Crafts, Thurs Flower Arranging —not that she attended. I like to relax. By Fri Baking , no tick appeared. Thought so! Canada Day tomorrow. Can’t fool me, Lily. Turning the page, she examined the photo of July fireworks at English Bay. Pretty. Was I there once?
    Waiting, she fiddled with her sunflower jigsaw.
    Whir whir , an electric chair rolling in. That heavy old woman. Feet, gone. Face creased, a softening gourd.
    â€œNot here, no. You live with Teevee-gal in 17-B. Bee bee bee!”
    The Wanderer snatched at Van Gogh, wheeled to the window and threw a piece out, looked excitedly at Sally, threw another.
    â€œStop, I’ll tell!”
    The visitor U-turned and yanked the privacy curtain round Sally’s bed.
    â€œPull that back!”
    Invisibly the wheelchair departed. Sally rang her buzzer, rang. In time, hunger changed her priorities. “Where’s my damn breakfast?”
    With the cold food came extra Aunt Jemima.
    As Sally ate, 17-B roared again. The police who investigate crime, and the district attorneys who prosecute the offenders. These are their sto. . .
    Sally watched the doorway. Who’s got her remote this time? TV’s all Teevee-gal has. I hate Lily. Why don’t Melia or Josie tell her off? Roberto? She licked her plate.
    Nap-time.
    More waiting, jigsaw.
    Moving pieces fruitlessly, Sally recalled again Lorraine’s saying, “The others are younger. From the same island, same village even. They can’t make her do a thing.”
    To physio next, heavy on the walker, escorted by the aide.
    En route, Boss Lady.
    â€œLily was mean to Annabel!”
    â€œLies. I’ve no time for this.”
    Sally said to Lily five times, “I told on you! I did!”
    So far. Then many exercises. Too many. So much bending. Knees sore. Back sore. Never a snack.
    Back in 17-A at last, Sally said, “You’ve twisted this walker, Lily.”
    â€œTen times maintenance fix for you.”
    â€œFucking did not!”
    Lily knocked Van Gogh bits off the table, took the mobility aid and left.
    Sally couldn’t find her picker-upper.
    Chicken noodle, maybe? How can Annabel love that stupid brother? He never visits. Is he dead? Crackers. Apricot yogurt. One brownie, never ever two. Why’d she throw out my puzzle? Throw out Lily! The Boss Lady’d be so mad.
    Â 
    Annabel’s explorations
    Usually in the mornings Annabel