Read Online Walking on Glass by Alma Fullerton - Free Book Online

IF THE SHOE FITS
    Jack pulls into a
    parking space near the lake.
    He taps my chest and points to
    a scrawny kid sprawled
    across a bench reading.
    â€œWant to have some fun?” he
    whispers.
    â€œOh yeah,” I go.
    He struts over to the kid
    and kicks his foot.
    â€œNice shoes.
    Your mom buy them for you?”

    The kid jumps to his feet
    and glances around,
    but the rest of the park
    is deserted.
    â€œI asked, did your
    mom pay for them?”
    Jack barks.
    â€œI—I guess so.”
    The kid clutches his book
    to his chest.
    Jack shoves him down.
    â€œI want them shoes.”

    â€œI d-don’t have another pair.”
    â€œYou hear that?” Jack says.
    â€œHe d-don’t have another pair.”
    My laughter mixes with Jack’s,
    and he plows the kid in the face.
    The kid covers his nose
    as his blood gushes
    through his fingers.
    Jack turns to leave,
    but that kid is staring at me
    over his bloody fingers,
    and I stand frozen.

    I wish that kid would
    stop.
    But he doesn’t.
    He stares
    like he knows
    what my mother did.
    He stares
    like he knows
    why she did it.
    He stares,
    like he’s expecting me to be nice.

    He just keeps staring.
    I shift my feet
    and look away.
    But I can feel him
    staring
    with eyes the color of
    Mom’s.
    Staring.
    â€œStop gawking,
    you freak!” I say.
    But he doesn’t.
    â€œStop looking at me!”
    I shove him hard against the bench.

    The kid’s head snaps back,
    like someone pulled an elastic
    attached to it.
    Jack turns around.
    He pounds the kid
    across the chin.
    The kid falls onto the grass,
    bawling
    and gripping the sides of his face.

    Things slow down in my head.
    A movie,
    paused,
    scene by scene,
    as Jack stands over him,
    kicking at his ribs,
    without giving in.
    All because I didn’t like the kid
    staring.
    The look in Jack’s eyes
    scares me
    because I know
    the kid has had enough,
    and no matter what I do,
    Jack won’t stop.

    â€œLoser!” Jack rips off the kid’s shoes.
    He leaves him lying on the ground
    bleeding.
    He trots to his car,
    carrying the shoes
    over his head like a trophy.
    I see the kid stagger to his
    sock feet.
    He wipes the blood
    from under his nose.
    That kid has to go home
    and tell his mother
    two guys beat him up
    and stole his shoes.
    And I want to puke.

IN THE CAR
    Jack says, “What a riot.”
    I stare out the window,
    not answering.
    â€œYou want the shoes?” he asks.
    â€œNo.”
    â€œYou should take them.
    Your shoes suck.
    They keep falling off,” he says.
    â€œMom bought me these shoes.”
    I look straight at him,
    daring him to say something.

    But he doesn’t.
    He just shrugs
    and throws the shoes
    on the backseat.

AT HOME
    I curl up on my bed,
    clutching my pillow.
    Trickles of sweat
    drip down the sides of my face.
    I shiver.
    My chest is locked
    like an iron cage.
    I gasp for air,
    but the cage just
    tightens.
    Every time
    I close my eyes,
    I see blood
    gushing from that kid’s nose,
    spilling onto his shoes,

    and me laughing,
    like some kind of an animal.
    I grip the pillow tighter.
    The cage grips me
    hard enough to make
    my heart pop.
    I sob,
    wishing my mother
    was home
    to open
    the iron bars.
    But she chose
    not to be.

ANOTHER KID’S SHOES
    That kid’s shoes
    are still in the back of Jack’s car
    untouched.

DOWNTOWN
    There’s a mural
    painted on the side of
    Mulier’s Grocery.
    An eagle.
    Flying free.
    Jack and I shake cans of paint
    and spray lines through the eagle.
    I step back, and it looks like a cage.
    At home,
    I stare at the ceiling,
    thinking about Mom’s photo.
    The word caged
    echoes through
    my mind.

    I race downtown
    with soap and paint thinner.
    Instead of freeing the eagle,
    I smudge it into
    nothing.

VISITING MOM
    The beeping
    from her machines
    shrieks.
    A reminder
    her soul is tethered to the ground,
    a captive falcon,
    circling in confusion,
    longing for someone
    to