Seen Reading by Julie Wilson Read Free Book Online Page B

to the rim of the smallest serving bowl reserved for pudding and his monthly trim. He wore black corduroys and a white baseball t with burgundy sleeves. His skin was dotted with whiteheads and his eyes were set just a little too far apart.
    She put her hand on his crotch and told him to open his mouth so she could kiss him. He obliged, forgetting to breathe, his head spinning when the group’s leader started the music for their next number.
    Rise and shine and give God the glory, glory.
    READER
    Asian female, late 20s, black hair twisted into ponytail, wearing grey overcoat and high-heeled suede boots, her bookmark a worn postcard of Jupiter.

    Walk in the Light & Twenty-Three Tales
    Leo Tolstoy
    (Orbis Books, 2003)
    p 235

Rumble Row
    She grew up in a shabby, narrow house on the wrong side of the track. Twice a day, once very early in the morning and again in the late afternoon, a cargo train rolled down the middle of her street, curving at the very end to cut through her backyard. The track had been built to go around her parents’ house, the only people on the street who’d refused to sell. Now twice a day, a train rolled by her bedroom window, a novelty that once made her popular among her classmates. But after the novelty wore off, the children no longer visited. She stood by the window — the girl on the wrong side of the track — while the pane rattled, and she waved somberly. Some days, the conductor waved back. Most days, he pretended to ignore her. It must not be easy, she thought, driving your train through someone’s backyard. Sometimes, the glass shook so violently she feared it would break. On those days, she’d press herself against the window, the vibrations tickling her deep down into her tummy, and she tried, once again, to imagine herself as the superhero who protects the world from the inevitable shards of glass, from all its injustices.
    READER
    Caucasian female, early 30s, wearing brown jacket, crisp blue jeans, and suede boots, black laptop bag tucked under her arm.

    Buffy the Vampire Slayer:
    The Long Way Home, Season 8, Issue 4
    Joss Whedon, illustrated by Georges Jeanty, Andy Owens, Jo Chen
    (Dark Horse, 2007)
    near the beginning

Put to Pasture
    The story was never told first-hand, just a family legend retold every few years when she and her mother drove out of town to pick raspberries. This stretch of road always freaks me out, is all her mother would say. The road was paved now, but some twenty years ago it was soft gravel, her grandmother a new driver like many women who only learned after their husbands left or died. It was dark, and she could expect to hit something along these roads at some point, be it deer or man. She never did stop to check.
    READER
    Caucasian female, mid-30s, with shoulder-length blond hair, wearing blue t -shirt, khaki capris, and leather sandals.

    The Final Detail
    Harlan Coben
    (Island Books, 2000)
    p 77

Of Age
    On several occasions he’s driven Trevor home, always with the intent of making sure he arrives in time to make curfew and has had plenty of water and something to line his stomach. Trevor is fifteen and wants to be a clothing designer. The owners allow minors in the bar so long as they don’t drink, but what they do in the parking lot is their own business. He recognizes his own youth in Trevor’s fair-haired biceps and tucked-in t -shirts. He thinks of him like a little brother, these first few months out of the closet so crucial. He considers himself Trevor’s life coach — save for that first fumble in the back seat before he knew how young he was.
    READER
    Caucasian male, 60s, with close-cropped white hair, wearing black leather jacket, and red, white, and black skull cap, smoking pipe.

    Lolita
    Vladimir Nabokov
    (Vintage, 1991)
    near end

When You Least Expect It
    When you least expect it, he’s been told. Stop looking and when you least expect it. He stares out the window counting house numbers, a