Down to the Dirt by Joel Thomas Hynes Read Free Book Online Page A

household. At least he had the good sense to keep himself clear of the old man’s temperamental steel toe. More than I can say for myself.
    He was a bit of a runt. Half cat, half kitten. But the kitten charm in him just vanished one day. No more play. Slide him out of the way with your foot to keep him from bein’ trampled. One day he’s doin’ backflips after horseflies in the pantry, and the next he’s dead weight slunkered on the bathroom floor.
    That’s where Natasha found him in late September, surrounded by a pool of his own excrements, howlin’ a throaty protest against his pain.
    We’d skipped off school at lunchtime to pick mushrooms in the Pasture Lands. I was never too big on the mushrooms and had in fact sworn, each time I did ’em, never to touch ’em again. Natasha couldn’t get enough of ’em.
    —I just finds they makes me come in my pants for no reason.
    Now who was I to say no to that? We picked a couple of handfuls each and counted them out when we got back down to the road. There was about a hundred. Opening up the sandwiches saved over from our lunches, we stuffed the mushrooms in between ham and cheese and forced ’em down. Assoon as they were in me I panicked and tried to throw ’em back up, but she wouldn’t let me.
    —No!! Keith, no. We’re in this together. Come on, sweetie, you said you would. I don’t want to take a trip by myself. It gets too lonely.
    Sweetie.
    We strode on up to Sheen’s Bridge and leaned against the railing, idly wavin’ our thumbs at passin’ cars, not really givin’ a shit if we got a run or not. I felt the shrooms gurgle and rumble in my stomach. Sick. We never said much, just waited for something to happen. We’d been havin’ a racket about the past Saturday night. She’d gone off to a party in Fermeuse and got plastered, couldn’t remember how she got home.
    —Well how can you say for sure you never fucked some-one?
    —Because I’m not a slut, Keith. Contrary to what you might believe.
    —I’m not sayin’ that. I’m not. All I’m sayin’ is that you coulda been taken advantage of. That’s all.
    —What? Think I can’t handle myself? Sure I’m tangled up with the likes of you.
    —The likes of me. Well, if you can handle yourself so fuckin’ well, how come you can’t remember how you got home?
    You can’t fuckin’ win. Pullin’ teeth. We lapses into a bitter, frustrated silence. It’s the only way around it.
    —What?
    —What?
    —Thought you said something, that’s all.
    —Never opened me mouth, girl.
    A big, plush Town-car stops to pick us up and as we slumpsin the back Natasha is gripped by such a powerful yawn that it seems her bottom jaw will pop off. Her eyes squints up and starts watering, her cheekbones pullin’ tight, scrunchin’ up her nose. A hungry young starling waitin’ for a worm, threatening to eat its own head. The yawn lasts about ten seconds. Before she’s done one overcomes me as well. The mushrooms are kickin’ in fast.
    The old couple in the car don’t say much and I’m glad ’cause I feels so heavy and groggy, like this big cushy seat is gonna swallow me up. We rides in silence, myself and Natasha afraid to look at each other for fear we’ll take a laughin’ fit, or worse, that we won’t.
    By the time we’re dropped off in the Cove it feels like I’ve lived no other life, but was born in the backseat of this Lincoln. I pulls on the handle of the door, feels something inside of it go clernk. It vibrates up my arm and into my head and I understands the door. I says thank you to the old couple and I really means it, I’m genuinely thankful.
    ‘Tash’s pupils are the full of her eyes and her face seems smaller, sunken and mousy. I tells her this and she tells me I looks like a girl, that mushrooms must bring out the feminine side of me, asks me if I’d like to borrow a dress. Now, she knows this’ll only upset me, and I knows that that’s what she’s trying to do. Push me ’til I makes a