Carry Me Home by Sandra Kring Read Free Book Online Page A

are dripping tears, but she don’t make a peep. Jimmy lifts her hand, the one that’s got that new ring on it, and he gives it little kisses, over and over again.
    When we get to the bus depot, Ma starts telling Jimmy what all she packed for him, like he ain’t gonna see that for hisself when he opens his suitcase. “There’s stamps inside the pocket under the lid, and paper and envelopes too. You keep us posted. And I put some candy bars in the other side pocket, and don’t forget to change your socks every day because you know how your feet break out if you don’t.” But Jimmy ain’t listening. He’s looking at Molly, like he wants to cry too. Dad don’t say much. He just asks Jimmy if he’s sure he’s got enough money on him, and Jimmy nods.
    “You take good care of my girl, Earwig,” Jimmy says when they say the passengers gotta board the bus. I grab Jimmy’s arm and tell him I want to go with him. Jimmy gives me a hug, and I bury my face right on his shoulder and cry like a titsy baby. I feel like a goddamn fool, blubbering like this, but ain’t nothing I can do to make the blubbering stop.
    Daddy takes me by the shoulders. “Come on, Earl. Jimmy’s got to get on the bus now.” I still got ahold of Jimmy’s jacket, though, and I don’t want to let go. Ma takes my hand away and she pinches my wrist, just like she used to do when I was little and didn’t sit nice in church. She leans over to my shoulder and hisses quiet-like, “Jimmy feels bad enough about leaving without you making him feel worse.” So I swallow them tears and let go.
    Jimmy gets on the bus, looking like a gray ghost as he moves down the aisle. Then Floyd, he has to board the bus too. He gives Mary a big kiss good-bye. Her face is all slobbery wet with tears, but he kisses her anyway. Dad shakes Floyd’s hand while he pats his shoulder, saying, “Take care, son,” then Ma and Molly give him a kiss and a hug. “I’m gonna miss you, Floyd,” I say, as I give him my hug. Floyd pats me on the back so hard I can hear thuds. “See ya, Earwig,” he says. “Don’t you go draining the millpond of suckers while we’re gone, and keep an eye on Mary for me.”
    After Floyd gets on the bus, Mary and Molly stand together, holding each other at the waist and crying. We all wave as the bus pulls away.
    We drive home with no sound in the car but for Ma’s crying. Nothing feels right, and I think maybe it ain’t gonna feel right for a long, long time.

Chapter 6
    I t’s Sunday, so I don’t gotta work in the store ’cause the store ain’t open on Sundays. Instead, I gotta go to church.
    Ma sighs and groans as she rubs Brylcreem into my hair. That guy who sings about Brylcreem on the radio, he says that a little dab’ll do, but that’s a goddamn lie. Ma squeezes so much of that goo into my hair that it’s making soapy sounds. She digs the comb teeth into my scalp and slaps and pushes my hair, but when she’s done, it still stands up like quack grass. Ma spins me around and checks me over. She tells me to tuck my shirt into my pants better.
    It ain’t goddamn fair that I gotta go to church with her all the time, and I tell her so, but I don’t say “goddamn” when I say it or I’m gonna be eating a bar of Lava soap and farting bubbles for a week. “You didn’t make Jimmy go to church when he was old as me. And Dad, he don’t gotta go on days he don’t feel like going.”
    Dad is sitting on his chair, having his morning coffee. He looks over, but he don’t say nothing.
    Ma starts to say something, then she stops. She’s got her lips painted cherry and her eyebrows pencil-drawed into boomerangs. She’s got a blue hat on that, I shit you not, she puts on by poking a pin long as my finger right into her head. She drops her hands and looks at me, like I ain’t looking so good, then she sighs and says I don’t have to go.
    Soon as Ma leaves, I rip them Sunday clothes off and I put on my flannel shirt and overalls. I put on