Read Online Somebody Up There Hates You by Hollis Seamon - Free Book Online
Authors: Hollis Seamon
Ads: Link
scored some candy already? Fast mover.â Then he grabs the bag out of my hand and empties the whole thing into his mouth.
6
I COULD HAVE STAYED on those three blocks all night, kids running around yelling and happy. But not Phil. I can see that heâs getting bored after just pushing me around for about twenty minutes. Iâm munching a Snickers when he says, âOkay, kid. Enough of this baby stuff. I got better plans for your Halloween than this.â
And off we go. Like I said, Hudson is all downhill, right to the river. So Philâs really moving, and me, Iâm rolling faster than I think, strictly, is safe. A couple times, Phil lets go of the handles and lets gravity take over. Then he trots along next to me, laughing. Once, I get going faster than he can run. Thatâs scary, but also sort of amazing. I mean, the wind off the river is right in my face, and my mouth is, like, streaming full of real air. I hold on to my crown and I can feel that my cheeks are getting all red in that cold wind. Healthy, I think. I bet I look perfectly healthy. I sort of want to just keep going, just take off and fly down to the river itself. But then, and I can picture this clear as day, I wonât be able to stop, and this chair will carry me right into the water, wheels flashing and spinning. And the currents in the river, theyâre fierce. I spent my whole life listening to my mom go on and on about how I better not even think of fooling around down there, not even on the bank. She seemed to think that the river could reach out, like a big wet hand or something, and scoop me in. Iâd go with the currents, all the way to New York City, and then out to sea. And sheâd never see me again. I used to think about that, sitting on the windowsill at the end of the hall in the hospital in New York: I could see the river running right along the edge of the city, five times wider than it is up here, and I could imagine being in it, dead. A little speck of junk, moving on down. Youâd think that would depress a kid in the hospital. Not soâit cheered me up, for some reason. Remember when that airplane landed in the Hudson, with all those people on the wings? I was there. I mean, I couldnât see it from my room, too far upstream, but we all kept crowding around the windows, pointing, thinking, Jeez, man, they were all okay, every one of them, saved. That pilot, heâs a superhero. I kept thinking: saved. Those people were saved. Everyone got out alive. Every single one.
Anyway, I get scared of the rush of air in my face and the feeling that I canât stop and I reach down with both hands and jam on the brakes. Itâs still a few seconds before they really catch, and the whole chair kind of skids and slides, laying rubber out behind it. And thatâs way cool. People in the 200 block, where I land, are cheering, I swear. Laughing and pointing and cheering. Down here, where thereâs no more antique stores, only a whole lot of bars and a couple corner stores, people hang in the streets, and they like it when thereâs a little drama, I guess. A good fight. A crazy kid in a wheelchair, racing along like some kind of Evel Knievel knockoff in a cape and crown. I grin and take a little bow. But to tell the truth, all the candy Iâve just pounded down is up in my throat, and Iâm pretty sure Iâm going to puke.
Phil catches up and he sees that Iâm kind of swallowing hard, and maybe I look a little green or something. Because he swings me into an alley and I hold my head over the side of the chair and bring it all up. Phil holds my cape out of the way and keeps my crown on my head. Itâs pretty messy, I got to say. All that good sweetness, turned sour and nasty, streaked with blood. Leaves a foul puddle on the ground, but that doesnât bother Phil a bit. He just backs up my chair and says, âNot to worry, Richard. People been tossing their cookies in this alley for
6
I COULD HAVE STAYED on those three blocks all night, kids running around yelling and happy. But not Phil. I can see that heâs getting bored after just pushing me around for about twenty minutes. Iâm munching a Snickers when he says, âOkay, kid. Enough of this baby stuff. I got better plans for your Halloween than this.â
And off we go. Like I said, Hudson is all downhill, right to the river. So Philâs really moving, and me, Iâm rolling faster than I think, strictly, is safe. A couple times, Phil lets go of the handles and lets gravity take over. Then he trots along next to me, laughing. Once, I get going faster than he can run. Thatâs scary, but also sort of amazing. I mean, the wind off the river is right in my face, and my mouth is, like, streaming full of real air. I hold on to my crown and I can feel that my cheeks are getting all red in that cold wind. Healthy, I think. I bet I look perfectly healthy. I sort of want to just keep going, just take off and fly down to the river itself. But then, and I can picture this clear as day, I wonât be able to stop, and this chair will carry me right into the water, wheels flashing and spinning. And the currents in the river, theyâre fierce. I spent my whole life listening to my mom go on and on about how I better not even think of fooling around down there, not even on the bank. She seemed to think that the river could reach out, like a big wet hand or something, and scoop me in. Iâd go with the currents, all the way to New York City, and then out to sea. And sheâd never see me again. I used to think about that, sitting on the windowsill at the end of the hall in the hospital in New York: I could see the river running right along the edge of the city, five times wider than it is up here, and I could imagine being in it, dead. A little speck of junk, moving on down. Youâd think that would depress a kid in the hospital. Not soâit cheered me up, for some reason. Remember when that airplane landed in the Hudson, with all those people on the wings? I was there. I mean, I couldnât see it from my room, too far upstream, but we all kept crowding around the windows, pointing, thinking, Jeez, man, they were all okay, every one of them, saved. That pilot, heâs a superhero. I kept thinking: saved. Those people were saved. Everyone got out alive. Every single one.
Anyway, I get scared of the rush of air in my face and the feeling that I canât stop and I reach down with both hands and jam on the brakes. Itâs still a few seconds before they really catch, and the whole chair kind of skids and slides, laying rubber out behind it. And thatâs way cool. People in the 200 block, where I land, are cheering, I swear. Laughing and pointing and cheering. Down here, where thereâs no more antique stores, only a whole lot of bars and a couple corner stores, people hang in the streets, and they like it when thereâs a little drama, I guess. A good fight. A crazy kid in a wheelchair, racing along like some kind of Evel Knievel knockoff in a cape and crown. I grin and take a little bow. But to tell the truth, all the candy Iâve just pounded down is up in my throat, and Iâm pretty sure Iâm going to puke.
Phil catches up and he sees that Iâm kind of swallowing hard, and maybe I look a little green or something. Because he swings me into an alley and I hold my head over the side of the chair and bring it all up. Phil holds my cape out of the way and keeps my crown on my head. Itâs pretty messy, I got to say. All that good sweetness, turned sour and nasty, streaked with blood. Leaves a foul puddle on the ground, but that doesnât bother Phil a bit. He just backs up my chair and says, âNot to worry, Richard. People been tossing their cookies in this alley for
Similar Books
