Read Online Stacking in Rivertown by Barbara Bell - Free Book Online
Authors: Barbara Bell
Tags: Fiction
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tight.
“Everybody listen to what Matt has to say.” He smiled that bad smile and started pushing up on Matt’s arms.
We froze.
Nothing, nothing, Matt said.
Tell them, Matty.
I’m sorry, Ben. Stop.
Ben kept pushing up. What for? Matt’s arms were too high.
I cheated you, Ben. I did a trick in the park. I won’t do it again.
He took a trick in the park. Ben laughed. He pushed up hard. I heard a pop and a crack. Matt’s arm was hanging loose, popped out of the socket. And his screaming was bad enough to make you shrink.
Ben jammed a gag in Matt’s mouth. He lifted the other arm. He was smiling big.
That was when Violet jumped Ben. He threw her off like he was swatting a fly, and Violet smashed into the wall. Ben grabbed her by the throat and lifted her off her feet. She hung up in the air, struggling, her mouth and eyes wide. Ben pressed his thumbs deeper. I yelled at him. He dropped her. Violet collapsed on the floor, heaving, making a noise like her tongue was stuck in her throat.
Don’t touch him, yelled Ben, pointing at Matt. He left.
Jason slunk over and let me loose. We helped Violet up, grabbing onto each other, and backed slow out of that room.
My agent leaves a message. “
Time
wants the interview Thursday. Pictures when your face clears.”
I curse.
When Jeremy gets home, he wants to talk about Helen and our appointment. Did it help? Was I sad? Were the drugs helping yet?
He’s like a German shepherd panting at your thigh.
I finally tell him I want to go write. He’s so proud of me, pulling myself out of my nervous breakdown.
While at my computer, I add to the “In the Taurus” list. I type in: Ladysmith. I peck out: shotgun and bullets.
The next morning, I start on my new program. At the spa I swim laps in the pool. After an hour, I lift weights. Then I do laps again and practice holding my breath.
I could always hold my breath the longest and by a long shot. Mandy was a lightweight in the breath-holding department.
We had a spot upriver where we tied a rope out over the water. It was a good ten-foot drop down.
The river curled in there, fattened out, and fell quiet. When you dropped off the rope, the water was hot on top, but before you knew it, you were down in something cold. I hated that cold underlayer, that shapeless ache below. I tried not to drop in too deep, but sometimes it reached up to get me.
We had a long week of rain from some hurricane that petered out before it hit the coast. The river was running full, lapping up near the two-room, and the next days beat on us hateful with the sun, so that all we could do was faint down in the shade of the willows in the afternoon. That’s when we decided to swing the rope.
It’s good I went first because of my breath thing. Down below, the river was tough. It wouldn’t let go, dragging me on. The undercurrent. Once I broke surface, I had to ride it all the way to Fowler. I trudged out of the eddy, water-soaked and scared clean through.
Maybe it was just water in my ears. But when I was down there thrashing mindless and struggling to get back up, I’m sure I heard that river laugh. It reminded me of Daddy.
He laughed when he started hitting. And sometimes people laughed at Mama behind her back. She was about as wide as she was tall and always carrying her bags of garbage.
At night, I’d get Mama to sit down in our one stuffed chair, and I’d rub her neck, singing her the songs they taught us in school. She loved that.
I loved Mama, even though she was fat. After she burned up, I pretended that she was light, just a breath of air, that I could carry her around, that I could lift her up and set her in the tops of the willows where the leaves shone silver.
When Mama and Vin were gone and I was alone, I’d jump down in that river and hold my breath, sinking into that shapeless ache, staying as long as I could. I promised myself that I’d get used to it, that nothing would touch me ever again.
In my head, I start
“Everybody listen to what Matt has to say.” He smiled that bad smile and started pushing up on Matt’s arms.
We froze.
Nothing, nothing, Matt said.
Tell them, Matty.
I’m sorry, Ben. Stop.
Ben kept pushing up. What for? Matt’s arms were too high.
I cheated you, Ben. I did a trick in the park. I won’t do it again.
He took a trick in the park. Ben laughed. He pushed up hard. I heard a pop and a crack. Matt’s arm was hanging loose, popped out of the socket. And his screaming was bad enough to make you shrink.
Ben jammed a gag in Matt’s mouth. He lifted the other arm. He was smiling big.
That was when Violet jumped Ben. He threw her off like he was swatting a fly, and Violet smashed into the wall. Ben grabbed her by the throat and lifted her off her feet. She hung up in the air, struggling, her mouth and eyes wide. Ben pressed his thumbs deeper. I yelled at him. He dropped her. Violet collapsed on the floor, heaving, making a noise like her tongue was stuck in her throat.
Don’t touch him, yelled Ben, pointing at Matt. He left.
Jason slunk over and let me loose. We helped Violet up, grabbing onto each other, and backed slow out of that room.
My agent leaves a message. “
Time
wants the interview Thursday. Pictures when your face clears.”
I curse.
When Jeremy gets home, he wants to talk about Helen and our appointment. Did it help? Was I sad? Were the drugs helping yet?
He’s like a German shepherd panting at your thigh.
I finally tell him I want to go write. He’s so proud of me, pulling myself out of my nervous breakdown.
While at my computer, I add to the “In the Taurus” list. I type in: Ladysmith. I peck out: shotgun and bullets.
The next morning, I start on my new program. At the spa I swim laps in the pool. After an hour, I lift weights. Then I do laps again and practice holding my breath.
I could always hold my breath the longest and by a long shot. Mandy was a lightweight in the breath-holding department.
We had a spot upriver where we tied a rope out over the water. It was a good ten-foot drop down.
The river curled in there, fattened out, and fell quiet. When you dropped off the rope, the water was hot on top, but before you knew it, you were down in something cold. I hated that cold underlayer, that shapeless ache below. I tried not to drop in too deep, but sometimes it reached up to get me.
We had a long week of rain from some hurricane that petered out before it hit the coast. The river was running full, lapping up near the two-room, and the next days beat on us hateful with the sun, so that all we could do was faint down in the shade of the willows in the afternoon. That’s when we decided to swing the rope.
It’s good I went first because of my breath thing. Down below, the river was tough. It wouldn’t let go, dragging me on. The undercurrent. Once I broke surface, I had to ride it all the way to Fowler. I trudged out of the eddy, water-soaked and scared clean through.
Maybe it was just water in my ears. But when I was down there thrashing mindless and struggling to get back up, I’m sure I heard that river laugh. It reminded me of Daddy.
He laughed when he started hitting. And sometimes people laughed at Mama behind her back. She was about as wide as she was tall and always carrying her bags of garbage.
At night, I’d get Mama to sit down in our one stuffed chair, and I’d rub her neck, singing her the songs they taught us in school. She loved that.
I loved Mama, even though she was fat. After she burned up, I pretended that she was light, just a breath of air, that I could carry her around, that I could lift her up and set her in the tops of the willows where the leaves shone silver.
When Mama and Vin were gone and I was alone, I’d jump down in that river and hold my breath, sinking into that shapeless ache, staying as long as I could. I promised myself that I’d get used to it, that nothing would touch me ever again.
In my head, I start
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