The Sound of Life and Everything by Krista Van Dolzer Read Free Book Online

have been a danger to that window, but she wasn’t a danger to
you.
” Mama tightened her grip on her purse. “You’ll take me to her this instant, and then we’re gonna leave.”
    Dr. Franks swallowed. “Very well.”
    When Mama seized my hand, I didn’t even protest, just let her drag me out the door. The other families watched us go without saying a word. One man clenched his fists, but the frantic-looking mama waved him off. She must have refereed plenty of fights.
    Auntie Mildred had ended up down the hall in a room that looked like it had once been a closet. They’d taken out most of the shelves and replaced them with a metal table and two spindly chairs. By the time we arrived in the doorway, she was already coming to.
    Mama breezed past the man silently guarding the door. I couldn’t resist stepping on his giant black shoe, but the man didn’t budge.
    Mama knelt down by the chair they’d stuck Auntie Mildred in. “How are you feelin’?” Mama asked.
    Auntie Mildred clutched her forehead. “Like someone cracked me with a shovel.”
    Mama pursed her lips. “Do you think you can stand?”
    Auntie Mildred gripped the table and dragged herself back to her feet. She bobbled like a newborn calf, but somehow, she didn’t fall. I couldn’t help but be reminded of the Japanese man downstairs.
    â€œWell, then,” Mama said, “we’ll just be on our way.”
    Dr. Franks fiddled with his sleeve. “A thousand apologies, Mrs. Clausen. What a terrible misunderstanding.”
    Auntie Mildred shrugged.
You didn’t bring Robby back,
her thin shoulders seemed to say,
so I don’t care anymore.
    Once we were safely in the elevator, I tugged on Mama’s hand. “I take it we’re not comin’ back?”
    â€œOh, we’re comin’ back,” Mama said, patting Auntie Mildred’s hand. “Someone’s got to teach that man that he can’t treat folks like cattle.” Under her breath, she added, “Not even Japanese ones.”

7
    Dr. Franks wasn’t the only one who treated folks like cattle. Miss Fightmaster, my teacher, was fond of teaching boring lessons, then jabbing people with her ruler if they dared to interrupt.
    I really didn’t like that ruler, but when she stuffed our heads with fractions and more useless mumbo jumbo, I couldn’t help but misbehave. At least Monday morning’s lesson looked more promising than most. She scratched it on the board as soon as we walked through the door: “How the Mighty Oak Tree Grows from a Single Acorn.”
    â€œIt might not look like it,” she said as she handed out acorns (and hammers), “but this tiny seed is one of God’s greatest creations. Add a little water and sunlight, and it will grow into a giant.”
    I held up my acorn. “Sounds like oak trees are a lot like people.”
    â€œElla Mae, don’t hold that acorn right in front of your nose! You’ll make yourself go cross-eyed!” She whacked my desk with her ruler. “And you
must
raise your hand if you want my attention.”
    Grudgingly, I lowered my acorn, then stuck my hand in the air.
    She let me stew for five whole seconds. “Yes, Ella Mae?”
    I held up my acorn. “Sounds like oak trees are a lot like people.”
    This time, she ignored my deliberate attempt to make myself go cross-eyed. “I don’t know what you mean.”
    â€œWell, you know how we come from eggs.”
    Behind me, someone laughed. “We’re not chickens, Ella Mae!” It sounded suspiciously like Walter.
    â€œI never said we were chickens.” I flipped a braid over my shoulder. “I was just talkin’ to this scientist, and
he
said that people—”
    â€œWhere did you meet a scientist, on a funny farm?”
    Red-hot shame crept up my neck and set my ears on fire, but before I could whip around and introduce