Where the Line Bleeds by Jesmyn Ward Read Free Book Online

Her.") They needed a car to get to all of the places they were
putting in applications, because they were all at least two towns over in
each direction along the coast, in Germaine or Ocean Point or Lausianne,
beyond the reach of Bois Sauvage and St. Catherine. In the hot air of the
room, Christophe had breathed out, "Thank God Cille got us a fucking
car," then threw his arm over his head so that his armpit would cool and
the sweat would dry along the elongated rigid expanse of his chest, his
ribs, the hollow of his stomach and belly button. He'd started breathing
hard within seconds: he was asleep.
    Joshua was envious of Christophe's ability to fall asleep like that,
instantly dead to the world, free from the weight of waking life, anywhere,
anytime. Once he'd fallen asleep during the eye of a hurricane Andrew
that hit the year they were eight, and he hadn't woken up until after the
storm had passed. While he had slept, Joshua had stayed awake, transfixed,
staring out the window at the hundred-mile-per-hour winds uprooting
pecan trees from the field next to the house. Joshua stared at the ceiling, felt the fine puffs of heat from the sluggish fan, and wondered about the
days to come. He didn't really want to work at any of those places, yet he
didn't know where he did want to work. Would every night of the rest of
his life be like this one: dreading the morning, the endless monotony of
the repetition of days, of work that he hated, spiraling off into old age?
He'd sighed and wiped a slick hand across his chest. He didn't know,
but he was tired, and the dread of these new thoughts seemed as heavy
and oppressive as the heat. He had lain staring at the circling fan until
he glanced at the alarm clock and saw it read three, and had blinked, all
the while listening to his brother's breath stutter into snoring in the next
bed. He only realized he'd fallen asleep when he opened his eyes and
saw Ma-mee standing over him. He heard the cock crowing from the
chicken coop in the backyard, and felt Ma-mee's touching his scalp as she
muttered, "Wake up."

    Joshua leaned closer into the form, marked the boxes indicating he
hadn't been convicted of a felony, provided three references (Uncle Paul,
Ma-mee, and his auto mechanic teacher from Vo-tech) and signed his
signature. He looked over at Christophe's paper and found it wrecked.
Christophe's sprawling, furious scribble spilled across the page in wide
arcs, and his words tumbled down the margin of the application at the
end of each line. Joshua smiled. Christophe never could color entirely
within a line. Christophe pocketed the pen and looked up and grimaced
at his brother. His fingertips were stained with ink. Joshua followed
Christophe to the counter where they both slid the applications as a
pair to the assistant manager, some kid with thick-lensed glasses and a
large nose and broad, bony black shoulders that had graduated from St.
Catherine's High School a year before them. He palmed them and nodded
at the twins. Christophe rolled his eyes. Joshua knew he had absolutely no
patience for people he considered "lames."
    "We got to work at the same time because we got to share a ride.
That's why we put down the same hours for availability."
    The boy bit his lower lip and nodded. He bent to slide the completed
applications in a small bin beside the cash register before speaking in
a deep, gravelly voice. It surprised Joshua: he sounded like a croaking
frog, like a ditch frog that called loudest after a summer storm, bloated
with rain.

    "I understand. I don't know if we going to be hiring anytime soon.
Most of the people we just hired on full time been working here since
before graduation."
    Joshua turned to the door and saw Christophe pursing his lips as he
followed. Joshua walked to the car and leaned his forearms against it. The
sun had not yet seeped in enough to make the metal burn; for that he was
grateful. He kicked the door. He was