Flesh and Bone by William Alton Read Free Book Online Page B

“It’s huge. It has a double bed.”
    I don’t want to think about how Mom knows about Bobby’s double bed.
    â€œI was going to make gumbo,” Mom says.
    â€œGumbo?”
    â€œBobby’s coming for dinner,” she says. “Then we’re going to a movie.”
    â€œHave you fucked him?”
    â€œBobby?” she asks.
    â€œHave you fucked him?”
    â€œI don’t know,” she says, “if that’s any of your business.”
    â€œI assume you’ve fucked him,” I say.
    â€œI don’t want to talk about it,” she says.
    â€œIt doesn’t matter to me,” I say.
    She stares at me and says nothing.
    â€œYou’re a grown woman,” I say.
    â€œFine,” she says.
    â€œNo details.”
    She leaves then. She makes coffee. I stand in the living room and watch the symphony of the weather. It’s not dancing music. It’s music to sit back and absorb. I watch the music and I wonder, does Mom know that she’s lonely. I wonder what kind of hole she’s trying to fill.

It’s a Secret
    P INES AND CEDARS stand straight as soldiers. Ferns ripple in the shadows. We sit on the creek bank, smoking cigarettes, drinking beers, watching the water sing over the stones.
    â€œAre we faggots?” I ask.
    Harold’s face turns white, then red. His hands shake.
    â€œI’m not a faggot,” he says.
    â€œIt’s a secret, though,” I say. “Right?”
    â€œNo one can know,” he says.
    Some sins are unforgivable. I’m lost in this moment. He runs his fingers along my jaw. He kisses me.
    â€œDo you love me?” he asks.
    I don’t know what to say. Words like love and hate mean nothing.
    â€œI don’t know.”
    â€œI love you,” he says.
    â€œDon’t tell anyone.”
    â€œI know,” he says.
    He kisses me, his breath smelling of beer and cigarettes. His lips are wet and thin and sloppy. I touch his face, hishard white whiskers, the soft skin brown and wrinkled. I don’t know what he wants from me, but it’s nice knowing someone loves me, knowing someone thinks I’m sexy and beautiful.

At the End
    G RANDPA DIES IN the morning. Pearly light leaves no shadows in the dining room. We all sit at the table eating eggs and hash browns, biscuits and sausage gravy. Grandpa’s face is gray and sweaty even in the cool morning air. He flexes his left hand like he’s trying to work out a cramp. He picks at his food, eating nothing, sipping his black coffee. We all know Grandpa’s not feeling well. He doesn’t talk much anyway, but when he’s sick he goes completely silent.
    After a bit, Grandpa gives up even pretending to eat. He pushes the plate back and goes to the bathroom. I finish my breakfast and go to my room for my book bag. I don’t want to go school today. I’m tired. I want to go back to bed, but there will be no more sleep today.
    Grandpa never makes it out of the bathroom. He dies with his face in the toilet, puking. We have to break through the door. It’s too late. There’s nothing we can do. We lay him out on the floor and Grandma kisses his pale, blue lips. She sits next to him, holding his hand and crying. No hysterics, no screams, just tired, silent tears, quietweeping. Mom leans against the door frame and lights a cigarette.
    â€œCall someone,” she says.
    I call the ambulance and stand in the kitchen watching Mom stare down at the floor, stare down at nothing, there but not there. Smoke rises through the cracks in her face. Her lips are thin and pale. I don’t know what she’s thinking. I don’t know where she’s gone, but I know that I don’t want to follow her.

Someday
    â€œH AVE YOU EVER been in love?” Bekah asks.
    â€œI guess.”
    She stares at me. I look down, keep my face close to my chest.
    â€œNot counting your mom,” she says.
    â€œI know.”
    We walk in the