Read Online The Messenger of Magnolia Street by River Jordan - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: River Jordan
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warmth is spreading through every region. Even the ends of his fingers feel flushed. But he hears the word springs , knows it is important, and tries to lash onto it. Tries with all his might to use the word for leverage to pull himself up from the plate of gravy, pull his face up from the bite he is about to take. And he does, but by the time he focuses on Kateâs eyes, he has forgotten the word. He couldnât carry on an intelligent conversation if he had to.
âGuess youâll be ready for a nap soon.â
âI donât nap,â Nehemiah says, suppressing a yawn. âBesides, I just got up.â
âIs that a fact?â
He looks at the clock, the regular diner clock, but the time says 12:04. He prairie-dogs his head up above the booth. The restaurant is almost full of people. The noise carries up where he can hear everything that he was missing. âIâve been eating for two and a halfhours?â He looks at the plates, realizing some have been emptied, taken away, others refilled.
Kate gets up from the booth; she does this by pulling on the edge of the table until she has enough leverage to hoist herself up and out. âI couldnât say exactly. Just that right now, you look well fed. And like you need to go to bed.â
Caught in some strange tide, Nehemiah gets up from the booth and makes his way out the front door. He forgets if he said good-bye or not. He forgets if he offered to pay (knowing Kate would say no but offering just the same). And later, when the sun is much lower in the sky, he will forget exactly how he got back to the house, passed Billy on the porch steps, and went straight inside to his motherâs bed and lay across the top quilt. If he had been a little more aware, he would have noticed the residue of gold dust pressed between the pattern, but he has placed his face in the middle of the threads and gone deeply, dreamlessly to sleep.
The glacier has met his match. There is the slightest scent of hope in the air, the barest whisper of a whistle on the wind.
Friday, 4:44 P.M .
When Nehemiah wakes for the first time, he realizes the magnitude of something peculiar enveloping him. He sits on the side of the bed, looks out the window at the low glow in the west, the shadows being cast across the yard. He pats the quilt next to him and raises his hands to run them through his hair, and stops, holds his palms out before him, bends his head down, rises, and walks to the window. He holds both palms up, turns them to the light, andthere, unmistakably, is the glow of gold. He returns to the bed, kneels down, and peers carefully and closely at every thread, every patternâs curve. Then he rises very slowly, his hands still in the air, and moves toward the door. He is calling Billy. He is trying to turn the doorknob with his elbows. He is calling again and again, trying to call out while looking away, to call without breathing on his palms. He is looking for, longing for, validation, proof, confirmation of this incredulous occurrence when the dust begins to dissipate. He watches, no longer calling but quietly watching. The gold appears to shimmer, rises in the air, then falls back into his palms, sinks below the surface. He doesnât need to turn around, doesnât need to examine the bed to know there is nothing there.
Â
Billy is driving around thinking about his brother, who passed him hours ago with not much more than a grunt then fell into some sort of unnatural sleep on the their motherâs bed. He had watched him long enough to make certain that he wasnât sick or drunk. Nehemiah wasnât a major drinker when he left town, but a lot could happen, obviously had happened, since heâd been gone. No smell of alcohol. No sign of fever. He had quietly pulled the door to and said, âCome on, Sonny Boy, looks like we got some sniffing around to do.â
Billy is looking for pieces of something, but the question he asks himself is, to
âGuess youâll be ready for a nap soon.â
âI donât nap,â Nehemiah says, suppressing a yawn. âBesides, I just got up.â
âIs that a fact?â
He looks at the clock, the regular diner clock, but the time says 12:04. He prairie-dogs his head up above the booth. The restaurant is almost full of people. The noise carries up where he can hear everything that he was missing. âIâve been eating for two and a halfhours?â He looks at the plates, realizing some have been emptied, taken away, others refilled.
Kate gets up from the booth; she does this by pulling on the edge of the table until she has enough leverage to hoist herself up and out. âI couldnât say exactly. Just that right now, you look well fed. And like you need to go to bed.â
Caught in some strange tide, Nehemiah gets up from the booth and makes his way out the front door. He forgets if he said good-bye or not. He forgets if he offered to pay (knowing Kate would say no but offering just the same). And later, when the sun is much lower in the sky, he will forget exactly how he got back to the house, passed Billy on the porch steps, and went straight inside to his motherâs bed and lay across the top quilt. If he had been a little more aware, he would have noticed the residue of gold dust pressed between the pattern, but he has placed his face in the middle of the threads and gone deeply, dreamlessly to sleep.
The glacier has met his match. There is the slightest scent of hope in the air, the barest whisper of a whistle on the wind.
Friday, 4:44 P.M .
When Nehemiah wakes for the first time, he realizes the magnitude of something peculiar enveloping him. He sits on the side of the bed, looks out the window at the low glow in the west, the shadows being cast across the yard. He pats the quilt next to him and raises his hands to run them through his hair, and stops, holds his palms out before him, bends his head down, rises, and walks to the window. He holds both palms up, turns them to the light, andthere, unmistakably, is the glow of gold. He returns to the bed, kneels down, and peers carefully and closely at every thread, every patternâs curve. Then he rises very slowly, his hands still in the air, and moves toward the door. He is calling Billy. He is trying to turn the doorknob with his elbows. He is calling again and again, trying to call out while looking away, to call without breathing on his palms. He is looking for, longing for, validation, proof, confirmation of this incredulous occurrence when the dust begins to dissipate. He watches, no longer calling but quietly watching. The gold appears to shimmer, rises in the air, then falls back into his palms, sinks below the surface. He doesnât need to turn around, doesnât need to examine the bed to know there is nothing there.
Â
Billy is driving around thinking about his brother, who passed him hours ago with not much more than a grunt then fell into some sort of unnatural sleep on the their motherâs bed. He had watched him long enough to make certain that he wasnât sick or drunk. Nehemiah wasnât a major drinker when he left town, but a lot could happen, obviously had happened, since heâd been gone. No smell of alcohol. No sign of fever. He had quietly pulled the door to and said, âCome on, Sonny Boy, looks like we got some sniffing around to do.â
Billy is looking for pieces of something, but the question he asks himself is, to
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