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Show at the fair, and from the confusion I feel when Jeff gooses me saying, / don't have time for more. Breathing fast, I run up the sidewalk and into my house, slamming the screen door behind me. Don't slam the door, my mother calls from the kitchen. I stand in the family room, out of breath, the TV on but no one watching. Where's Dad, I ask. In the carport working on the van. Where's Jeff? Are you two coming inside? It's time for bed. School tomorrow. Yeah. I go out the back door to the carport. Jeff is no longer on the curb. He can't go to his own house, and I wonder where he has gone. My heart races. Do I know what I am about to do? Hey, Dad. I say, dropping to the ground beside him where he sits on his knees looking at the engine, conscious that my voice quivers. What's up? he asks. And I start to cry. Hey, what's all this? He stops fiddling with the engine, wipes his greasy hands on the red towel he keeps in his pocket. Nothing. Why are you crying? Nothing, Dad. Must be something. Tell me. He is concerned. I have his attention. Nothing. Jeff did something, that's all. I say, but I know it is enough. What did he do? he asks, an edge to his question. He stops wiping his hands. 165 |