Twelve Months by Steven Manchester Read Free Book Online Page A

before it was too late; before I was forced to share in the boy’s horrid grief. I pumped my legs and prayed hard all the way home. When I reached safety, I drummed up the courage to look back. There was nothing there.
    Joseph was waiting on the porch, smiling. “Told you there was nothing to worry about,” he said.
    I calmed my quick breathing and looked into my older brother’s eyes. “Nana was right,” I said, panting. “Nobody can punish us more than we can punish ourselves.” With that, I pushed my rubbery legs into the house.
    Joseph followed me in. Before the door closed behind him, his words echoed down the street. “Come on, Donny. It couldn’t have been that scary. Are you really that sorry you went?”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

    A shiver traveled the length of my spine. This time, it was from the falling air temperature. I looked up to see that my trip down memory lane was losing light. Where are you now, Charles Biggins? I wondered. Turning up the collar on my jacket, I half-stood, stretched out my aching back and eased myself out of the clubhouse. As I started down the tracks, I looked back once and had to smile. When you’re a kid, it’s so foolish to think that life will remain the way it is forever; that nothing will ever change. But maybe that’s the true gift of innocence. Good or bad, I’d survived my childhood and was exposed to just enough to choose the life I wanted. I suppose when you add up those two factors, it was a success.
    When I reached the car, I popped a pain pill and called Bella on the cell phone. “Miss me?”
    â€œBefore you even left,” she said.
    â€œListen,” I told her, “I think I’m going to spend the night at Joseph’s, so I can spend one more day with my memories. You okay with that?”
    â€œThat’s fine. But are you okay?”
    â€œYup.”
    â€œThe pills helping?” she asked.
    â€œI’m a little tired and achy, but yeah – they’re working. How’s Riley?”
    â€œShe taking it rough, but she’ll be fine.” There was a brief pause. “I love you, you know,” she said.
    â€œI know. Me, too,” I said and was starting to learn just how much.

Chapter 3

    Sometimes, the memory is too kind. Take high school, for example. Most people claim, “I wish I could go back.” But if you recall high school – I mean, really remember it – you’ll probably remember it the same way I do. It sucked! There were bullies, peer pressure, acne and girls – a terrible mix. Folks go through their whole lives without having to face a fraction of the rejection they faced in high school. But when we recall it, the only things we remember are the prom, graduation – all the good stuff.
    Adolescence and the few years that led up to it are still a bit hazy to me…
    The customers who didn’t tip on our paper routes got hit hard on Halloween. Weeks before the big night, Joseph, Dewey and I bought dozens of eggs and hid them so they’d go rotten. We also used soap, lipstick and shaving cream – anything that would allow us to express our creativity. We thought we’d done it all one year before we saw Ronnie Forrester, the neighbor bully, throwing small pumpkins off the highway overpass onto passing car windshields. I’ll never forget it; the cops thought we were responsible and everyone scattered for cover. But we weren’t complete lunatics. We were only egg pitchers.
    I remember going to a slaughterhouse with one of our Portuguese neighbors. The pig squealed something horrible until they slit its throat. Once they drained all of its blood, it was my job to stir the big red pot all the way home so it wouldn’t clot.
    The drive-in theater saw a few empty quarts of beer and once we even smuggled in a mayonnaise jar full of moonshine. As I recall, the security guard couldn’t place the odor, and Dewey and I