Read Online Things Too Huge to Fix by Saying Sorry by Susan Vaught - Free Book Online

wanted to grab her and hug her and tell her not to listen, that everything was going to be fine with her dad, but she wouldn’t like that. It would make her go all weepy in public. Soldiers’ kids don’t cry . She had told me that a hundred times. I didn’t think that was true, or even good for her, but it was what Indri wanted. So I just let her murder my fingers until Ms. Manchester moved on with her storytelling.
    â€œThe buildings at Ole Miss actually did serve as an infirmary to the wounded and dying from Shiloh and other battles,” Ms. Manchester said. “And the campus didn’t reopen for classes until 1865. Now, as for Brave John, him and his tale are all my creation.” She tapped her chest and grinned. “Local legend has it that on dark, dark nights, you can hear hoof beats in the cemetery, as the ghost of a general rides his patrol—but he’s never killed anybody.”
    Indri let go of my hand before my fingers went totally dead, and we clapped along with everyone else as Ms. Manchester gave us a deep, courtly curtsy. I knew she was around the same age as my mom, but she looked younger somehow. Maybe it was working in a bookstore instead of cutting up dead bodies.
    When we settled back on our mats again, Ms. Yarbrough switched off her iProjector, shutting down the creepy picture of the town square full of little white tents. Then she turned back to us with her hands clasped in front of her.
    â€œSo who can explain why people tell ghost stories?” she asked.
    â€œTo scare themselves silly,” Indri muttered.
    â€œThat’s right.” Ms. Yarbrough smiled at her. “For entertainment. A good scare can be fun, and that’s the primary purpose for many spooky tales—excitement and entertainment. Why else do people tell ghost stories?”
    â€œTo explain things they don’t understand,” Sheila said, and Ms. Yarbrough nodded her approval.
    Bobby came up with, “To warn people about evil, and bad choices. You know, scare them into acting right.”
    That got approval from Ms. Yarbrough and Ms. Manchester, too.
    Indri poked her hand in the air and said, “To help themselves not be afraid of what happens after death, ’cause if there’s ghosts, then there’s something, and we don’t just disappear.”
    Ms. Manchester gave her the thumbs up.
    I wanted to say that people told ghost stories to make sense out of what really was their circus and which monkeys they should worry about, but I figured all that would get me would be a trip to the campus infirmary. So I raised my hand, and when Ms. Yarbrough pointed to me, I said, “People tell ghost stories so they don’t forget the past.”
    Or their grandmothers .
    Double nods for me, and then Ms. Yarbrough said, “Who can tell me what story-telling elements and techniques Ms. Manchester employed to make her tale dramatic?”
    Hands went up, and the discussion took off again until Ms. Manchester had to go back to work.
----
    Ms. Yarbrough told us another campus ghost story about a fraternity boy who got killed in a car wreck in the 1960s coming back to campus from the LSU–Ole Miss football game. Apparently, he was mad about dying, so he haunted Saint Anthony Hall, the Delta Psi frat house. Ms. Yarbrough didn’t use a flashlight, and her story wasn’t that scary. She wasn’t as good as Ms. Manchester at making all the words sound interesting.
    People started doodling on papers and reading other books and fidgeting with their phones while Ms. Yarbrough talked. I felt a little sorry for her as she blabbered out a third tale that started in the 1960s, about screams coming out of the Lyceum part of the old steam tunnels that ran under the campus. Could I tell a story as good as Ms. Manchester? I could write a little bit, like poems and short stories, but I didn’t think my writing was smart like Grandma’s had been, and definitely not