Read Online The Handbook for Lightning Strike Survivors by Michele Young-Stone - Free Book Online Page B

you.” He took the mop from Buckley. “Clark is an idiot, but I am good at my job. Don’t attempt to get rid of the spray paint. It’s not going anywhere. I’ve got a can of yellow paint stashed in the closet. I’ll take care of it.” As the hallway emptied, students rushing to their respective classes, Buckley felt fortunate to know Janitor Jackson. It was rare that he got to know someone.
    Buckley said, “Are the women and the drink still hounding you?”
    Janitor Jackson laughed. “We need more boys like you, boys who listen. And as a matter of fact, those good-looking womenwon’t ever let me be. Day and night they hound me—a curse and a blessing. How can I live without them?”
    “Wisely.”
    “Your father’s done a good job raising you.”
    “You can read, Mr. Jackson. It says ‘bastard.’ It’s no lie. I don’t have a father.”
    When he got home from school, the reverend said, “You need to wise up and stop being a pantywaist.”
    His mother, looking heavy and sad in her recliner, beckoned, “Come here.” Buckley was almost as tall as she was now. He leaned down. She pressed his head against her shoulder. Gangly and disheveled with unmanageable hair, he was uncomfortable in his own skin.
    She said, “How was school today?”
    The reverend said to Abigail, “Don’t baby the boy.”
    Winter smiled. Her thoughts exactly.
    Abigail said to Buckley, “Tell me what happened.”
    “Nothing.” He pulled away.
    “We need to talk about it.”
    The reverend added, “And we’re going to talk about it.”
    Buckley walked toward his bedroom, hearing the reverend’s boots at his heels. Tired of running, he waited for the reverend to take him from behind—which he did, being a reliable sort—grabbing Buckley’s T-shirt and pinning his head against the cream-colored cinder blocks. “What’s the matter with you?” the reverend demanded.
    “Everything.” Buckley’s head hurt. He’d been through enough today. When he was older and taller, he’d hold the reverend’s head with his feeble brain against this block and see how he liked it. Or would he? Men like the reverend aren’t pinned. They don’t eke by or survive. They thrive. The reverend had wanted Abigail and he got her. The reverend had wanted to ruleBuckley and that’s what he was doing. Buckley said, “I’m worthless.”
    The reverend said, “Pray through the night. When I come in your room at two o’clock, I want to see you on your knees; three o’clock, prostrate before our Lord; four o’clock, praying to Jesus for strength.” The reverend stepped back. Buckley heard his mother breathing. She’d risen, but only in time to see the reverend’s retreat.
    This same year, Buckley’s mom got a job at Roger’s Gourmet Pork ’n’ Beans.
    On her first official day, Tarry Quince, a coworker, showed Abigail where their boss’s office was located. She said, “The best thing about the man is we don’t never see his ugly face.” Mr. Peebles had hired Abigail. He’d seemed like a nice man, but it made no difference. She needed the money. “Drop your time card here on Friday,” Tarry instructed.
    Downstairs, Tarry pointed to the women on the steel ladders, working the vats. The vats seemed larger today than last Tuesday when Mr. Peebles had asked, “When can you start?” Tarry shouted over the noisy compressors and vacuum sealers, “Sheila, Laurie, Katrina, and Tracie.” Sheila and Katrina noticed Tarry and Abigail over the rumble of the machines and waved, and one woman, Sandy Burkhaulter, who worked at the end of the line, climbed down. She wiped one hand on her tomato-and-bean-spotted smock before taking off her glove. She mouthed the phrase
good to meet you
and extended her hand to Abigail, who felt so overwhelmed, she left Sandy’s hand where it was. Sandy climbed back up the silver ladder to her vat.
    Abigail was hired to work the line inspecting cans of Roger’s Gourmet Pork ’n’ Beans, an Arkansas favorite, and