Shark Girl by Kelly Bingham Read Free Book Online Page B

hand
    along the spines of the albums
    lined across the shelves.
    My finger rests on the plaid one.
    Dad’s last year.
    I know all the pictures by heart,
    and today, I’m in the mood to see his face.
    But not
    all those pictures
    of the two-armed me.
     

    Justin called me today. “I miss you,” he said.
    Before I could tell him that I missed him more,
    he was running like a faucet,
    gushing about his friend Sam
    and the LEGO set his grandparents sent him.
    Something to do with Superman.
    He didn’t mention his leg at all.
    Justin has other things on his mind.
    Like life
    and living it.
    I miss his little face
    and his skinny arms, too.
    “Can I come over sometime?” he asks.
    “I think I should come to
your
house,”
    I say, trying to steady my voice.
    “I need to meet this dog of yours.
    Spot.”
    Justin laughs. “She’s kissing me right now.”
    Justin laughing.
    What a beautiful sound.
     

    I see Mom cleaning,
    cleaning,
    washing and folding,
    dusting. Shopping.
    Guilt.
    One afternoon,
    while she is at work,
    I try folding the laundry.
    What a joke.
    Wrinkled heaps, sleeves
    poking sideways,
    but at least Chuck is good for something —
    he helps me get the shirts
    on their hangers.
    Taking out the trash,
    I hold the bag at the top,
    center,
    but everything bulges out
    and before I can reach the garage,
    trash spills
    to the ground.
    Coffee grounds,
    tin foil bits,
    last night’s spaghetti,
    bread crusts — all
    lie before me
    like a dare.
    Michael finds me
    crying in the garage,
    surrounded by mess.
    “It’s okay,” he says
    gently, and steers me inside.
    “I’ll take care of it.”
    I don’t know what’s worse.
    Knowing I can’t do something as simple
    as take out the trash
    or seeing my brother
    feel sorry for me.
     

    Rachel and I prep
    for the expedition.
    I try not to think
    about how I felt
    at the grocery store.
    I try to be
    a clean slate.
    In my room,
    I set my purse on the bed,
    unzip it, fish out the wallet,
    fumble around for money;
    dollars wrinkle up in a wad,
    coins tinkle to the floor.
    “Try again,” Rachel says.
    And I do.
    I use Chuck to help,
    but frankly, Chuck
    is a pain in the ass.
    He clunks, bumps, and blocks
    my view.
    Chuck is removed from the scene.
    Rachel raises an eyebrow.
    “You’re going without it?”
    “No. Of course not.
    But it’s in the way,” I say.
    This time, I get the wad of money out,
    lay it down,
    extract three dollars,
    set them aside.
    I return the remaining bills,
    somewhat crinkled,
    to the pocket of the wallet.
    Coins next,
    raining, bouncing, thumping
    off our freshly painted toenails.
    Rachel draws her feet up to the bed,
    fluffs up her bangs, and sighs.
    “Maybe skip the change?”
    “Right.” I remove one more dollar.
    I hand over the money. Rachel
    scoops up some littered dimes and dumps them
    into my palm.
    I stare at the tiny coin pocket on my wallet.
    Can’t slide them in this way,
    they’ll fall to the sides.
    To hell with it. I slide the coins into my pocket.
    “Good enough,” Rachel says.
    I stand straight,
    zip the purse shut.
    “Order?” Rachel asks.
    “Tall mocha latte, please,” I reply.
    Rachel pretends to hand me a cup,
    then goes into her standard
    Idiot Person
    imitation, hunching apelike.
    “Say, what happened to your arm there?”
    I almost laugh, but this is a dry run.
    “I had an accident,” I say,
    and practice becoming a distant
    stone wall.
    “Oooh, good look,” Rachel says.
    “That would shut
me
down.
    But you may run into a real boob
    out there. What if he or she does this?
    ‘
Hey,
wait a sec, I know you.
    You’re that girl that —’”
    “Okay, I want to stop now,”
    I say quickly.
    “‘The shark girl!’”
    Rachel crows, still in ape mode.
    “‘Hey, I saw that video on —’”
    “Stop it, Rachel.”
    “‘Wow, that must have been weird.
    Do you remember anything that —’”
    “Knock it off. No one will say that.”
    “‘Did you
see
the shark?’”
    “It’s none of your damn