Cosmo by Spencer Gordon Read Free Book Online

knee.
    â€˜I’m sorry,’ Crystle said, sighing, pinching her purse between her thighs. She breathed. ‘I didn’t mean to hold all y’all up. I’m just a crybaby. Those kids were so brave.’ She felt the tears edge back, perilously close to making a return. She let her drawl out, heavy and slow and the way she imagined all wise and holy people spoke. ‘And I felt so honoured …’
    She didn’t have to finish her thought; the girls understood. They said it was something they’d hold in their hearts, this time spent visiting and spreading joy. They said it was an experience that would draw the five of them closer, make it easier to hope for one another; that no matter what the outcome at the Crown Convention Center, with the whole world watching, they’d have each other’s backs. The A-Team, they joked. They were rooting for each other, hoping for happiness despite the near certainty of a loss.
    Perhaps there was still hope in the end, Crystle thought – a glimmer of something unforeseeable and moving, like the orange glow of Heaven spreading its storybook light over a redeemed world. That’s how she envisioned Heaven, anyway: something to save in the back of her mind, a reward for a hardworking life that came as a welcome surprise. Not much to think about now, but something foggy and distant – something to look forward to. Maybe that’s how all this would turn out. All she needed was the right kind of spirit.

JOBBERS
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    A mid a pile of paper plates, pizza boxes and the crumbly remains of breakfast, I stare down at the July ’91 edition of WWF Magazine . Jake ‘The Snake’ Roberts glares back from the glossy cover, his cocked brow just oozing evil. WWF Magazine is a regular sight in our house. Eddy, my eight-year-old brother, saves all his change to run down to the convenience store every month to grab the new edition. He has me read the articles to him. On this month’s cover there’s a headline about The Ultimate Warrior – Eddy’s favourite wrestler – and his ongoing feud with The Undertaker, who’s one of the most feared heels in the World Wrestling Federation. To Eddy, wrestling is literally life and death, especially when the Warrior is involved. Of course, as his big sister, I know better – I know it’s absolute horseshit.
    From where I sit at the table, I can hear Gorilla Monsoon – black, hyperactive poodle, bought for forty bucks two weeks ago from a retired steelworker on East 22nd Street – whining non-stop in the spare bedroom. Gorilla isn’t properly housebroken. Mom and Uncle Keith (not really my uncle – he’s Mom’s boyfriend, most recent and longest lasting) are throwing a party tonight. They want Gorilla locked in the bedroom because if we let him run around the house he’ll piss and shit all over the floors, and for now it’s just too hot to keep him out back, especially with all that black fur. Gorilla’s so spastic that neither of them wants to deal with his jumping and barking, so his prison sentence extends until the end of the bash. Knowing Gorilla, and knowing Mom’s parties, the puppy will be yelping until three in the morning.
    Eddy’s outside knocking spiders into a Cheez Whiz jar behind the tool shed, so he can’t hear. If he could, he wouldn’t understand – the whimpering would drive him crazy, make him cry or complain, so it’s better to keep him occupied. Eddy’s got a dirty-blond mushroom cut and jar-thick glasses, a soft stomach and white, flabby arms. He’s got some real serious mental problems – head trauma according to Mom, retardation according to Keith – but everyone around here is used to it. The kid needs constant supervision at school, loping around and holding hands with the guidance counsellor.
    I’ve got a growing list of tasks that I use to keep Eddy busy. This