Read Online The Heart is Deceitful above All Things by J. T. LeRoy - Free Book Online Page B

against the wall and quiet my breath. ‘I will not call you again, Jeremiah.’ His voice is flat, commanding. My body involuntarily moves to the doorway.
    The morning light streams from the window onto his desk. ‘Step in. Close the door, Jeremiah.’ I walk in,closing the heavy door behind me. I watch my hands move the brass knob that sticks out like a dog’s tail until it clicks in its lock. ‘Jeremiah . . .’ I turn around slowly. Long rows of books, not library books, but leather bound, in blacks, burgundies, and browns, line the wooden shelves up to the ceiling. They’re the kind of shelves where if you remove the right book, a secret passage opens and a slide takes you to a secret dungeon. ‘Jeremiah . . .’ He taps his foot in rapid succession. I turn back to face him. As my eyes adjust to the light, I can see him better. He’s frowning. His hands are pressed flat on the black inlay on top of the wide desk. I want him to smile, to be better than my fucking fosters’ grandpa, and to know I’m me: who he saved. ‘I know songs, sir,’ I whisper, and immediately I feel as if I’ve tossed a water balloon off a roof and I’m watching it, powerless to stop it, as it hurtles toward a crowded street.
    â€˜You’ve learned Psalms, Jeremiah,’ he says, half like a question.
    â€˜Aaron told me to sing them to you,’ I take a breath, ‘sir.’
    â€˜Aaron told you to sing them to me, Jeremiah,’ he repeats. He folds his hands one on top of the other. His hands are bright white with delicate blue veins, raised like worm tunnels. His little pinkie taps slowly.
    â€˜I am a Annie-christ,’ I sing without melody, ‘I am a annie-kiss––’
    â€˜Jeremiah,’ he interrupts, ‘what psalm is that?’ Hecocks his head to the side like a dog listening to a silent whistle.
    â€˜Sex Pistols,’ I say, excited he’s interested.
    â€˜And where did you learn the Sex Pistols psalm, Jeremiah?’ Now his ring finger is tapping along with his pinkie.
    â€˜Um . . . from Stinky.’ I examine the bookcase again. There’s only one white book on the fifth shelf; that must be the one you pull.
    â€˜Jeremiah . . .’ I turn back. He tilts his head to the other side. ‘And who is Stinky?’
    I laugh and cover my mouth. He smiles back without humor. ‘Stinky has a pink Mohawk, but he cut it.’
    â€˜Yes . . .’ His whole hand is tapping now. It’s making me jumpy.
    â€˜He lived with us, he’s a punk rocker, and I get to be one, too, he said. He’s learned me guitar so I can be one, too, but we ran away because he was boring, Sarah said . . . we didn’t even say bye-bye. We sole his guitar at the pone shop. We didn’t say bye.’
    My grandfather just nods.
    â€˜Oh, Aaron ’minded me to tell you the Dead Kennedys, I know them, ‘Too Drunk to Fuck’. I know that one, too. I know more. Wanna hear?’
    â€˜No, Jeremiah, I––’
    â€˜Oh!’ I interrupt him. He looks down at me with surprise, his eyebrows raised. ‘Aaron ’minded me to tell you my bath was too hot, it hurted. And Job scrubbedme hard. And I taked the bath at the hospital before, anyways. They don’t scrub ya.’
    â€˜What other things did Aaron remind you to tell me, Jeremiah?’ His teeth lightly bite into his bottom lip.
    â€˜That I ain’t got no pillow, and the blankets ain’t warm enough, and we haded too many potatoes to peel. But you know what? He can make ’em look like naked peoples.’
    â€˜What else did he say or show you, Jeremiah?’
    â€˜Well . . . he said he gets candy from your drawer, and if I do his bed for a week, I can get me some.’ He says nothing, only nods like he wants me to tell him more. I rub my head. ‘Oh . . . he says my mom is a sinner and a slut.’ His hand starts tapping again,