Read Online Regular Guy by Sarah Weeks - Free Book Online Page A

album. Can you forgive me?”
    â€œThey’re just some stupid baseball cards, Mom.”
    My mother’s eyes got all shiny. She puther arm around my shoulder and pulled me in tight next to her. Then she pointed to a photograph in the book that lay open on her lap. “This is Bobby Smith right after he was born,” she said quietly.
    â€œMan, what a weird-looking baby. Why’s he all blotchy like that?” I asked.
    â€œAllergies. The poor little thing was splotchy and red from the minute he drew his first breath,” my mother said.
    â€œWhat’s with the hair?” I asked.
    â€œSome babies are born with a full head of dark hair like that—usually it falls out later.”
    â€œDid I have hair like that?” I asked.
    â€œYou were bald as a cue ball. You’ve seen pictures of yourself, Guy,” she said gently.
    â€œOh, yeah,” I said.
    â€œYou were sweet and round and pink and bald and the most beautiful baby I’d ever laid eyes on,” my mother said, and she had a tiny little catch in her voice like maybe she was going to cry.
    â€œDid you see me right away? Becausemaybe Bob-o and I got mixed up when they took us away to clean us up or something,” I said.
    â€œI held you in my arms and your dad cut the cord, Guy.”
    â€œGross,” I said.
    â€œI nursed you for the first time right there on the delivery table—”
    â€œYech, Mom, too much information,” I protested.
    â€œGuy, I didn’t let you out of my sight the entire time I was in the hospital. Poor little Bobby Smith was coming and going all the time for treatments and ointments and what not, while you just lay in my arms staring up at me like a little angel. I felt sorry for Marie. I still do.”
    â€œWhat do you mean?” I asked.
    â€œGuy, Bobby is, well, let’s just say he hasn’t had an easy time of it. He’s always been kind of an odd duck. Marie and John are perfectly nice people, but they don’t have a clue when it comes to helping that boy.”
    â€œWhat do you think they should be doing?”
    â€œPaying attention to him. Listening to him. Right from the get-go they refused to really look at him. Now their kid is walking around talking to himself and stuffing his pockets full of rolled-up tuna fish, and they’re sitting around with their noses stuck in—”
    â€œâ€”magazines.” I finished the sentence for her. “Why does he have tuna fish in his pockets, anyway?” I asked.
    â€œI asked him that. He told me he hates tuna fish, but every day his mother packs him a tuna fish sandwich for lunch. He wads up the tuna and eats the bread.”
    â€œWhy doesn’t he just throw it out?” I asked. “That’s what I do with the raw hot dogs.”
    â€œYou do? Why didn’t you tell me not to pack them?”
    â€œI did,” I said quietly.
    We sat for a minute on the step not saying anything. Finally I got up the nerve to ask,“How come you said ‘it didn’t work’ when Bob-o walked in, before?”
    â€œHe was picking his nose,” she said.
    â€œSo?” I said.
    â€œI tried to hypnotize him out of that habit,” my mother said. “But it didn’t work.”
    â€œOh, that’s what you meant?”
    â€œUh huh. What did you think I meant?”
    â€œI thought you had tried to kill him, Mom.”
    â€œWhat?!”
    â€œHe was green, and Dad said he was dead to the world. I heard him.”
    â€œThat’s just an expression. I tried to hypnotize him to stop him from picking his nose, Guy. Obviously I haven’t mastered the technique yet, but I’m starting to get the hang of it. I’ll show you when we get home.”
    Home . I let the word wash over me like a warm wave, but only for a minute. I still had more questions.
    â€œWhy did you put Bob-o’s hands in plastic bags?” I asked.
    â€œI put an herbal salve