Read Online Spinning by Michael Baron - Free Book Online

probably going to swell up a bit more.”
    “I meant with your evening routine.”
    “Oh, that. Spring goes to bed and we read to her. Did you find any books?”
    “Spring, do you like Dr, Seuss?” My face felt heavy.
    “Yeah!”
    “Maybe you can read it to her,” Diane said.
    “Me?”

    I shrugged. I’d once entertained my colleagues with a dramatic reading of Fox in Socks. I could probably keep a kid amused, as well. Holding the ice to my face, I followed the two of them into their room.
    “Every night before bed,” Diane said, “we read two books, and sing a song, and…”
    “… water!”
    “And we drink a small glass,” Diane eyed the Yankees 32-ounce guzzle cup I’d brought in, “of water and then we do animal impressions. Spring, is it okay if Dylan reads to you instead of Mommy tonight?”
    She nodded, and Diane handed me the book.
    In spite of the pain in my nose, I thought it would be fun to read the book to Spring. I’d always had a thing for Dr. Seuss. I pulled the chair close to the bed and began Green Eggs and Ham .
    “I am Sam. Sam I am.”
    “No!”
    “What?” Six words in and I had already made a mistake. At least no one was bleeding, or required more ice.
    Diane touched my arm. “You’re supposed to do the voices,” she suggested.
    “You want voices?”
    “Yeah!”
    Once a year or so, this could be a lot of fun. “Voices. Okay, here goes.” I cleared my throat, which sent a shot of pain to my injured face. I ignored it.
    “Tonight,” I began, trying to imitate Alistair Cooke from my Masterpiece Theatre DVDs, “we will discover a tale of intrigue and woe, as Sam pursues this fuzzy dude, I pointed to his picture, “in a hat to get him to taste the delectable flavors of green eggs and ham.”
    Spring seemed pleased and hugged her pillow.

    By the time we reached, “I do so like green eggs and ham,” her eyes had started closing even though I could see she was trying to keep them open. She hadn’t had much sleep since flying in from Chicago two nights before, and I assumed Spring was history for the night. Then I learned something important about children: having a routine can mean a lot more to them than their need for sleep. As I closed the book, a cry drifted up from the burrows of Spring’s blanket. “Next…”
    Unless she could navigate through The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo , we were out of stories for the evening.
    I shrugged to indicate that I didn’t have anything else in the apartment that was appropriate. Diane rolled her eyes and then pulled a Winnie the Pooh book called Friendship Day out of Spring’s backpack. I don’t know if Diane was giving me a break, or if she was suggesting that my previous performance lacked the proper nuance, but she read this one herself. By the end, Spring seemed to be approaching the off-ramp to Dreamland again.
    Yet, her voice still rang out from her pillow. “Song…? ”
    Diane looked at me.
    “What?” I said.
    “Mom, you do it,” Spring said.
    I gestured toward Diane. “She wants you to sing.”
    Still looking at me, Diane said, “Spring, wouldn’t you love for Dylan to sing to you tonight?” She was delighting in making me feel uncomfortable. The interesting thing was that I was enjoying her doing it.
    Spring shook her head. “He doesn’t know how. ”
    I mustered up as much of an indignant expression as I could pull off with the ice still pressed to my nose. “Don’t know how? Clearly, you missed the New York Times review
of my last shower.” I removed the compress, stretched my neck, then belted out:
    New York.
Concrete jungle where dreams are made of....
    Spring buried her face in her pillow and I stopped.
    Diane laughed. “How about something a little less edgy. Maybe John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt ?”
    Spring turned back toward us. “Yeah!”
    “I don’t really remember the words.”
    “Just follow along.”
    Diane began to sing:
    John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt,
his name is my name, too.