“Probably not.”
The bus pulled away, and everybody started walking home. But Bo and I just stood there, staring up at the cross above the door. It was big and white, and even I could see it pretty clearly.
“Can I ask you something?” But, again, she didn’t wait for my answer. “Do you believe in all that stuff? God and Jesus and all that?”
“Yeah,” I said, taken aback. “I mean … I think so. I guess I’ve never really thought about whether I believe it or not. What … what about you? Do you believe in it?”
“I want to,” she said. “But then I think … if there is a God, he’s done forgot about the Dickinsons.”
I didn’t know what to say to that.
After a second, Bo turned and started walking, and I did, too, my cane clicking on the sidewalk behind her. It was a sunny day, but a little cloudy, which meant it was just the right amount of brightness for me to see at my best. I could make out more details than usual—like the empty kiddy pool in one of the yards we passed and Bo’s short, scrawny frame, slouched as she walked along in front of me.
“You live over here?” I asked.
“Yeah. The trailer down there on the corner.”
“Oh.” Suddenly it all made sense: her walking past the church that day, her in the woods. She lived in the trailer my grandmother always pointed out on the way to Sunday school. I knew Dickinsons lived there, but I hadn’t realized Bo was one of them. “We’re practically neighbors.”
“Sorta,” she said. “If you go straight into the woods from my back door and head a little to the left, you can be right behind your house in ten minutes.”
“It scares me that you know that.”
She laughed and slowed down so that I could walk next to her. “Told you—I spend a lot of time out there. I also know how to take the trails to Sally Albert’s house in fifteen minutes. I’ve been skinny-dipping in her pool at midnight before. She’d shit herself if she knew.”
“Skinny-dipping with who?”
“Everybody, if you believe what people say.”
“Should I?” I asked. “Believe what people say?”
She took in a breath, like she was about to answer, but then, out of nowhere, she just stopped. I’d taken a few steps before I realized she wasn’t walking with me. I looked back.
“Bo?”
“Shit.” Then she moved past me, faster than before, toward her front yard. It was still a couple houses down, so I wasn’t sure why she’d taken off like that. Not until I heard her holler, “Mama!”
I hurried after her, thinking something was wrong. I almost tripped a few times—it was hard to use the cane properly when you were moving too fast—but I managed to reach Bo’s house just a second after she did.
“Mama,” Bo said, moving onto the grass. “What’re you doing?”
I squinted, scanning the space in front of me, trying to get a better focus. Bo’s trailer with its rickety wooden front porch. An old car in the gravel driveway. A lawn mower sitting next to a huge oak tree. And that’s when I saw her—Bo’s mother. She was so skinny it was no wonder I’d missed her, even on a bright day like this. She had dark brown hair pulled back into a low, scraggly ponytail, and she was wearing a black tank top that made her skin look almost paper white. Maybe they looked more like each other in the face—I couldn’t make out details like that—but from what I could see, she hardly looked like Bo, with her strawberry-blond hair and tanned skin.
That’s when I remembered that Bo’s mother had married into the Dickinson family, and I had no clue who she’d been before that.
“Bo,” Mrs. Dickinson said. “Good. You can help me. I’m gonna fix the lawn mower.”
“When was the last time you slept, Mama?”
“I’m fine. I just gotta fix the lawn mower.” She waved her hands in the air, and I noticed she was holding something silver. I glanced down and saw several more little silver objects at her feet, reflecting the sunlight. Tools, I guessed.
“It ain’t broke, Mama.”
“I can make it run better,” she said. Her voice was shaky and quick, like she was anxious and excited all at once. And she couldn’t seem to sit still. It made it hard for me to keep focus on her. “I can take it apart and put it back together and—”
“You ain’t even used that thing in years,” Bo said. “The county has to come and do it half the time. Mama, let’s just go insi—”
“Shh!” Mrs. Dickinson snapped. “Wait.”
“Wait for what?”
“They’re watching,” Mrs. Dickinson whispered. She took a couple steps toward the oak tree and looked up. “They’re up there. They’re watching us. Can’t you see them?”
“No one’s watching, Mama. Let’s go inside.”
Mrs. Dickinson let out a yell and flailed her arms. I only knew she’d thrown one of the tools when I heard it clatter onto the sidewalk a few feet away from me.
“Damn it, Mama!” Bo shouted. “Stop it! You could’ve fucking hit somebody!”
“I was aiming for the people in the tree,” Mrs. Dickinson said. “Who’s that on the sidewalk? Who’s that girl? Is she watching us, too? Is she with them?”
I stood there, confused and wondering if I should go. But now Mrs. Dickinson was coming toward me and I didn’t know whether to run or introduce myself. I opted for the polite thing.
“Hi,” I said. “I’m Agnes. I go to school with—”
Bo stepped in front of me, blocking her mama’s path. “She ain’t with nobody. There’s nobody in the trees. You’re acting like an idiot.”
“Shut your mouth!” Mrs. Dickinson yelled. “Don’t you dare talk to me that way. You’re my daughter. I’m the adult. Stop acting like a little bitch, you hear me?”
I flinched. How could a mother call her own daughter a bitch? Then again, Mrs. Dickinson didn’t seem like your average mother, and Bo didn’t even seem fazed. When she spoke next, her voice was calm. Calmer than I’d ever heard it.
“Come on, Mama,” Bo said. “Let’s go inside. If they’re watching, we can close the windows. They can’t see inside.”
“But I wanna fix the lawn mower.”
“We’ll do it later,” Bo said. “Come on. Before the neighbors call the cops.”
I stood there, frozen, as Bo ushered her mother to the trailer. I knew I was watching something that ought to be private. Something I ought not be a part of. But I was rooted to the spot. Maybe it was concern for Bo. Maybe it was just my own nosiness. Either way, I didn’t have a clue what to make of everything I’d just seen and heard.
Bo didn’t look back or say anything to me as she urged Mrs. Dickinson, who was still twitching, onto the rickety wooden porch. I waited, hoping she’d turn around and say something before they went inside. Tell me that it was gonna be okay or just say good-bye or … anything, really.
But all I got was the slamming of the screen door behind them.
“I know I’m white trash and all, but this is extreme, even for me.”
I pick up the rusty scissors we found in the Reliant K’s glove compartment and laugh, but Agnes just gives this half smile. She ain’t said much since we bought the shitty car a little over an hour ago, and it’s making me nervous. What if she’s changed her mind? What if she wants to go back home? Can’t say I’d blame her. Especially considering where we’re at right now.
The truck stop bathroom smells like sweat and piss. Soggy paper towels litter the sticky floor, and the walls are smeared with graffiti. Agnes don’t gotta see to know this place is a dump. But it’s the best we got for now.
“You sure about this, Bo?” she asks.
“Our pictures were on the news. We gotta make ourselves look different somehow.”
She nods and turns to face the mirror.
“Don’t be nervous,” I say. “Mama used to cut hair out of our trailer when I was little, and she taught me some. I had to cut her bangs.”
She makes a face, and it’s clear this ain’t much comfort.
I step behind her, scissors clutched in my hand. Her coal-black hair is so long, almost to her waist. I take a deep breath. “Here we go.” I start at the back, cutting slowly and carefully. She’s taller than me, so I gotta stand on my tiptoes. Locks of hair fall around us, getting on my T-shirt and in my mouth.
I remember doing this for Mama years back, before Daddy left. Remember her laughing as Daddy opened a beer and said, “That little girl’s gonna put your damn eye out if you ain’t careful.”
“I trust her more with these scissors than you,” Mama said. “Don’t care if she’s eight or eighty-seven.”
When I was done, Daddy took a look at my work. “Well, shit, Bo,” he said. “Ain’t too bad.”
“Can I cut your hair next, Daddy?” I’d asked.
“Maybe after a few more beers,” he said, chuckling as he kissed me on the top of my head.
There were a few nights like that when I was little. Where we’d all be laughing and talking and being nice to each other. Maybe even eating dinner together. Like I imagined the other families in town did. They’d only last for so long, though. Then, usually, both my folks would end up getting drunk and yelling at each other. But they started out good, at least.
Most of those good nights ended when Daddy left.
I spit some of Agnes’s hair onto the floor and keep cutting until I’ve given her a shoulder-length bob. It ain’t as pretty as before, but it ain’t terrible. “Turn around.”
She does.
“Close your eyes.”
She does.
I use my fingers to comb her hair in front of her face. I take a few careful snips. The scissors are dull, so they don’t cut quite right. But I manage to give her bangs. Long ones that stop just above her eyes. They ain’t even, but they’re good enough. She don’t look like the same clean-cut girl no more. Not at first glance anyway.
“Done.”
She steps away from me and looks in the mirror. I don’t know how much she can see, but the look on her face tells me she ain’t thrilled. She runs her fingers through the strands around her face and sighs. I wait for her to say something. Maybe make a joke. But she stays quiet.
I swallow. “All right. My turn.”
“What?”
“You gotta cut my hair now.”
“Bo, I can’t,” she says.
“Yeah, you can.”
“I’m blind.” She says it like I’ve done forgot.
“It ain’t gotta be pretty.” I put the scissors in her hand.
“What if I cut off your ear?”
“You won’t.”
“But your hair,” she mumbles. “It’s how I recognize you.”
“I should’ve cut it off forever ago. It’s always in the damn way. And you’ll find another way to recognize me. Just do it, all right? I wanna get out of this shithole.”
“Fine.”
I use both hands to smooth my hair back into a ponytail and hold it in one fist. “Cut the whole thing off.”
“Okay.” She steps closer. Her left hand slides along my face and neck. Eventually, her fingers settle over mine, gripping the ponytail while she chops at it. My hair is thick and wavy, and it takes a while to chop off the whole thing. When she’s done, I feel almost dizzy with the loss of all that weight.
I take the scissors from her and look in the mirror while I even up the sides a bit. When I’m done, it’s all I can do not to cry. Despite everything I said before, I hate this. My hair was a pain, a mess, but it was the only thing about me that was pretty. Now it’s choppy, cut to my ears, and I look like a little boy. Short and skinny and awkward.
I ain’t gonna let Agnes know how upset I am, though. She’d feel guilty, even though I’d asked her to do it.
“Not bad,” I lie. “If we get caught, at least we’ll have some killer mug shots.”
She smiles, but just barely.
I ain’t used to this. To her being so distant. It’s got me scared, but I don’t got the nerve to ask her about it. Instead, I clear my throat and say, “All right. Let’s get the hell out of here.”
We walk out of the bathroom, leaving piles of golden, red, and black hair on the floor.
I spent the next two weeks waiting for Bo.
Waiting for her to walk into English class. Waiting for her to come down the sidewalk, past the church, on Sunday morning. Waiting for her to say something—anything—to me.
I was always watching for her, keeping an eye out for that golden mane of hair to come around the corner. I saw her almost every day, but we didn’t say a word to each other for two weeks.
Then, on a Friday afternoon, I’d decided to spend my lunch period in the library. Christy was out sick, so I didn’t have anyone to sit with. Besides, I had a research paper due in World History that I needed to work on. I’d taken a seat at a table near the checkout desk so that Mrs. Dalker, the librarian, could help me find books if I needed her to. For now, I’d picked a book about the black plague.
If I wanted to read any normal-size books without having a bunch of pages copied and enlarged in the front office, I had to use this giant crystal-like magnifier. It was shaped like a dome and at least two inches thick. I had to slide it along the page, leaning close to read each word I passed over. It was slow going, but I’d gotten used to it.
What I hadn’t gotten used to was the way other people acted about it.
“What the hell is that thing?”
Before I could do anything to stop it, a hand swooped down and swiped my magnifier right out from under my nose. Literally. I looked up, but I didn’t recognize the boy in front of me. He had dark hair and wore camo, but that could’ve described about half the boys in my high school.
“Can I have that back, please?”
“What the fuck is it?”
“A magnifier,” I said. “I need it to read.”
Without warning, he grabbed my book, slid it across the table, and bent over. “Well, goddamn. You’re blinder than I thought, Agnes. Ain’t gonna lie. Always kinda thought you were faking it, but fuck—this thing is strong.”
“Uh … yeah.” It wasn’t the first time someone admitted they’d thought I was faking. But I still hadn’t figured out how to respond to it.
“Give it back to her, Garrett.”
I whipped around, but I didn’t have to look to know. I’d been waiting—hoping—to hear that voice.
Bo Dickinson was behind me.
“Come check this out,” Garrett said. I knew who he was now. Garrett Bishop. A sophomore. He was in the Future Farmers of America with Christy and Andrew. Until now, he’d never said more than two words to me.
“Stop being a fucking dumbass and give back the magnifier,” Bo said.
“Or what? You’ll go tattle on me? Thought you were cooler than that, Bo.”
“I ain’t gonna tattle,” Bo said. “But I will tell your girlfriend that you tried to feel me up at Andrew’s party.”
“She ain’t gonna believe you.”
“You sure about that?”
But I guess he wasn’t, because, after about a second, he shoved the book and the magnifier back over to me and started to walk away. I thought I heard him mumble, “Fucking bitch,” as he headed for the library door.
Bo, who never seemed fazed by the names people threw at her, plopped down in the chair across from mine.
“Thanks,” I said.
“No problem. He’s an idiot anyway.”
“Did he really try to feel you up?”
“Yeah. Spilled beer down the front of my white shirt, too. Still ain’t convinced that was an accident. Kinda a waste, though. Not like I got the boobs to rock a wet T-shirt.”
“But I thought you were … At Andrew’s party, I heard you …”
“Went down on Perry Schaffer in the hayloft?” Bo asked. “Nah. Perry just told a bunch of people that. And then your best friend went and told everybody. Speaking of, shouldn’t you be eating lunch with her right about now?”
“She’s sick. I think
she’s got strep throat.”
“Too bad,” she said. “Listen. You know how you said you could help me with algebra?”
I nodded. “Yeah.”
“Well … I understand if you ain’t got time … or if you just don’t want to, but I was wondering—”
“I’d be glad to,” I said, then felt mortified by how fast the words had tumbled out of my mouth. I shouldn’t have sounded so excited to help her with math. She’d think I was some kind of freak.
But, if anything, Bo just sounded relieved. “Thanks. I just … I got a test coming up, and I really don’t wanna take this class again. So maybe I can come over this afternoon?”
“Uh … to my house?”
“Yeah. That all right?”
“Sure. Of course.”
“Great. I’ll walk over from the bus stop later, then.”
The bell rang, and Bo and I hopped to our feet. I put my library book and my magnifier in my backpack before we headed toward the doors.
“By the way, how’s your mom?” I asked. “Is she okay?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, the other day she just seemed … I thought maybe she was sick or needed some kind of medication or …” All of a sudden, I felt awkward. I shouldn’t have brought it up. It was none of my business.
But then Bo was laughing. At least, I thought she was. The sound was darker. Bitter.
“Medication’s the last thing she needs.”
“What do you mean?”
“She’s fine. She was just tweaking.”
“Tweaking?”
“Yeah. You know, zooming … on meth.”
“Oh.” I stopped and readjusted my backpack on my shoulder, trying to process what she’d just said. Meth. Crystal meth. I’d never seen anybody on drugs before. I’d never even seen anyone smoke pot. At least, not that I knew of. A lot could happen without me noticing. But still. I’d never really even thought about meth. The idea of someone’s mom doing it blew my mind.
Run Page 5
