Read Online The Castle Cross the Magnet Carter by Kia Corthron - Free Book Online Page A

out for ice cream to make up for leavin him all day,” he mutters. He’s likely right. Aunt Pearlie’s got nine kids most still living at home, plenty enough to keep B.J. busy, and yet he still would have felt abandoned by us. Pa doesn’t bother to ask how the debate went.
    I go up and change out of my good clothes. Before running off to tend to B.J. they could have at least left a note for me: Good job. A few days ago she asked me how to say I love you in the sign language. She was enchanted when I showed her, immediately running off to show him. After a while I went to stand at the living room doorway, observing them. They were doing it back and forth, mother and firstborn son, him mimicking her, but he was confused: What is love? She tried to show him, holding her heart, showing her heart beating. Finally she held him and kissed him many times, silly and affectionate. He was thrilled and at last seemed to comprehend. Eventually she turned to sign I love you to me. An afterthought.
    I hear them all coming in downstairs, B.J.’s voice, Ma and Benja laughing and talking, ignoring my father’s grouchiness. I wash my face several times, trying to erase all evidence of my blubbering, of the day. When I’m through I stare in the mirror. Sure hope you’re considering law school. I heard this episode of Perry Mason on the radio a few weeks ago. Once again he proved the case, shocking everyone in the courtroom into a collective gasp.
    I come down to the living room and there they all are, Ma, Benja, B.J. Grinning at me. B.J. holds it. The trophy from Gephart’s. I know Mr. Westerly wasn’t planning on purchasing it until after the debate, and depending upon its outcome, so my family must have gone on and ordered it ahead of time, making it ready regardless.
    Randall Evans
    Best Speech
    Prayer Ridge Debate Competition
    Feb. 20, 1942

 
    8
    B.J. sits on the ground with our cousin Deb Ellen, him teaching her. He wanted to show her the sign words, and she always liked playing with him. She turned thirteen Wednesday, but they waited till today, Saturday, 14th of March, to celebrate her birthday in the park. Bright spring sun, and over on the colored side I see some girls skipping two ropes at once. The frankfurters and potato salad done, now Ma helps Aunt Pearlie set up the picnic table for the cake and ice cream.
    â€œYou ready to call the troops over?” my mother asks her sister and best friend. Aunt Pearlie is two years my mother’s senior. “I notice I got one soldier’s mouth a-waterin right here.” She winks at me, wearing the red rose brooch I got her for her own March birthday last week. Well there went the Sopwith savings—start over.
    Aunt Pearlie’s a great baker. The cake is moist, the icing dream creamy.
    â€œIt ain’t gonna be like this for your birthday,” Aunt Pearlie warns Chris-Joe who’s ten, the baby of the family. “They sayin the sugar rations gonna hit startin May. You might get a cake an you might not.”
    â€œAw,” grumbles Chris-Joe, demonstrating how it is never too early to whine.
    â€œIt’s delicious,” says my mother.
    â€œIce cream too,” says Aunt Pearlie. “People with a sweet tooth sure gonna feel the sacrifice. Guess you be havin a string bean birthday.”
    â€œAw!”
    She smiles at her youngest. “I hid a little sugar away. It oughta still be good come July the twenty-sixt.”
    â€œLeast with the victory gardens we never be short on vegetables,” my mother says. “My peas been really tasty, an now I got some nice cabbage. That an a little pork’s a meal.”
    â€œYou ain’t gettin your wish,” Buppie, who’s fourteen, informs Deb Ellen.
    â€œYou don’t even know what my wish was.”
    â€œIt’s the rations. Applies to birthday wishes too.”
    â€œOh you’re a regular Jack Benny.”
    â€œI’m knittin him some