| OCR Text |
Show in my father's house/ 226 Wells as soon as it's dark." The radio crackled and Aunt Helga sat by the bedroom window hemming diapers. When I came in, she looked up but didn't move, her face lined in pain and worry. I lay on Aunt Helga's white spread, conscious of my fusty wool coat and slushy boots dangling. I thought of the times I had sneaked into Aunt Helga's room and my arm ached harder. She was staring out the window, at the back yard with its tufts of dry weeds poking above the snow. "I got hurt today too. I slipped on the ice when I went out for the paper." She wasn't quite crying. "Mama told me." I didn't know what else to say. "Is..do you think the baby will be all right?" All our futures seemed to depend on that. "I hope so," She sighed and blinked quickly to keep the tears back. "I tore a little." Her voice was choked. I didn't know what to say. The fingers of my broken arm twitched like the claws of a chicken with its head chopped off. I tried to position the broken arm on the bed and cried out. I wished my father would hurry. He would know what to do. He would administer to Aunt Helga, would tell us that the baby was all right, would straighten my crooked arm. I wanted to sleep, but couldn't let go of my arm. My right hand ached numbly from not moving; my coat scratched at my chin. Aunt Helga glanced up and her face softened. She slid off my coat and boots, her movements sure and gentle as she bent over me, moaning softly. She formed a sling for my arm freeing my good hand, and covered me with a soft pink blanket. |
