All American Boy by William J. Mann Read Free Book Online Page A

window in the middle of the night and a little girl picks it up to learn that her mother has died.
    â€œShe’s gone,” she hears, and her aunt, on the phone downstairs, starts to cry.
    Regina gently hangs up the extension so that her aunt will not hear. She turns to her sister, sitting in bed with the covers pulled up to her chin, and asks, “What would you do if Mama died?”
    â€œI’d drink iodine,” comes the unhesitating reply.
    â€œMe, too,” Regina says, and she means it.
    A month before, Regina and Rocky and their mother had made boiled potatoes and succotash for supper. The girls had mixed the lima beans and corn together with their fingers, imagining the bowl of raw vegetables to be a treasure chest of emeralds and diamonds. Mama was peeling the potatoes over the sink.
    â€œDo the potatoes have eyes, Mama?” Rocky asked.
    â€œYes, they do.”
    â€œCan they see us?”
    â€œIf you believe they can.”
    â€œI believe.” Rocky looked at Regina. “Do you?”
    â€œIf you do, Rocky, I do, too.”
    â€œRochelle,” their mother said, “set the plates out. Regina, you put out the cups.”
    The girls opened the cupboard. The door stuck. Both of them had to pull together to get it to pop open. The plates were chipped. Mama had tried to paint the chips white so they wouldn’t be noticed, but now the paint was almost gone. Rocky took out three plates and set them symmetrically around the table. Regina took out four cups.
    â€œYou forgot Papa’s plate,” Regina told her sister.
    â€œHe doesn’t eat here anymore,” Rocky insisted.
    Their mother didn’t turn. She continued peeling the potatoes over the sink. “Put out a cup for your father, Rochelle,” she said. “If he comes in, I want a place set for him.”
    Regina smiled, pleased. Rocky put a cup out for her father, but her lips were pressed together so tightly they turned white.
    The play unfolds itself. Regina and Rocky are sitting on the edge of the bed, hand-in-hand, waiting. They can hear the clock ticking. One second, two seconds, three, four. Above them a solitary light bulb burns from the ceiling.
    Their aunt climbs the stairs with two lace handkerchiefs, newly pressed. She opens the door to their room and her eyes are red from crying.
    â€œThe angels have come,” she says, “and carried your Mama home.”
    The little girls cry on cue. Their aunt kneels before them, bringing their heads to her breast. Then she hands them the lace handkerchiefs.
    â€œWill my Papa come?” Regina asks.
    â€œI don’t know,” her aunt replies.
    â€œHe’ll come home now,” Regina says.
    â€œNo, he won’t,” Rocky spits. “He’ll never come home.”
    â€œYou have us,” the aunt says. “Me and Uncle Axel and Mormor …”
    Regina doesn’t say anything. She keeps her head pressed against her aunt’s breast. Her tears are starting to sting her cheeks.
    â€œI’m going to have a baby,” their mother had told them after dinner.
    â€œA baby?”
    â€œA baby?”
    â€œYes,” she said, without smiling. “Would you like a little brother?”
    â€œYes, Mama!” Regina put her hand on her mother’s belly. “Is he in there now?”
    â€œHe is,” her mother answered.
    â€œI can’t feel him.”
    â€œThat’s because he’s still very small.”
    â€œWhat will we name him?” Rocky asked.
    â€œHow about Peter?”
    â€œThat’s Papa’s name.”
    â€œYes. Do you think he’d like that?”
    Regina leaned against her mother. “But what if it’s a girl?”
    â€œThen we wouldn’t name her Peter, now would we?”
    â€œWould we name her after you?” Regina asked.
    â€œMaybe. We could do that.”
    Regina nodded. “I want a girl.”
    Mormor lived across town in an old white