As she walks into the kitchen shaking her head over my natural talent, I begin searching out a melody, and I wonder if Jemmie is listening too. Or if maybe my music’ll just bother her while she reads.
I don’t know how long I’ve been playing when I feel a hand brush across the back of my damp T-shirt—and for a second I think it might be Jemmie.
“You got the gift, child,” Nana Grace says softly. “You surely do got the gift.” The hand gives my arm a light slap. “Bet you also got an appetite.” She doesn’t wait for an answer, just walks across the room and sticks her head out the front door. “Girls? Come on in for lunch now.”
It’s lunchtime? My stomach rumbles. Guess so.
“Can you stay?” Jemmie asks as the girls come inside.
Is she giving me a too-bad-I-have-to-invite-you look or an I’d-really-like-you-to-stay-for-lunch look? I consider taking a chance and saying yes, but I’d be eating in front of her—not a fast snack, but a meal at a table, talking with my mouth full, public chewing. “Thanks, but I gotta do something with Ben.”
“Oh.” Cass wraps her arms around herself. “Would you tell him I said ‘hi’?”
“Sure.” It isn’t much, just two letters, but it might make Ben feel better. “Anything else?”
“Just hi.” She tucks her hair behind her ears. “Hi and…I guess I wouldn’t mind talking to him sometime.”
“Okay, I’ll tell him. He wouldn’t mind talking to you either,” I add fast. I know Ben will be in a crappy mood until he does. “Thanks for the lunch invitation. Bye, Nana Grace. I’ll see you guys later.”
“Don’t forget the ‘hi’ for Ben,” Cass says.
I point at the pocket of my shorts. “Got it.” As I turn away I hear a laugh. Sounds like Jemmie’s.
Luckily, I’m halfway down the front steps before my stomach lets out another loud growl.
I consider going home. At the moment there’s stuff in the fridge, but I have supplies at the hideout, too, and a “hi” and a “wouldn’t mind talking” to pass on to Ben if he’s there.
It isn’t as hard to get to Nowhere as it was when we first found it. We’ve stomped out a rough path, but everything is still wet after the rain, and I have to sidetrack around a few muddy spots. As I get closer I listen for Ben. He makes noise, especially when he’s on a project.
I catch my first glimpse of the roof between the trees, but the woods are still free of Ben commotion. Wondering if he’s even there, I begin to whistle the tune in my head.
I stop. Something looks different. I let out a low whistle. The dead branch, the Sword of Damocles that always looms over the roof and bugs Ben, is gone. While I was playing piano, he probably cut it down and then went home for a shower. No reason to go to the hideout if Ben isn’t there. I’ll catch him at home. The tuna-forked-out-of-a-can lunch I had in mind will be beat by whatever Ben’s throwing together at his place.
But as I turn to go, I hear something. It isn’t the cheepy-cheep of a bird or some other nature sound. It sounds more like a groan.
When I don’t hear it again, I shrug and take a step toward home.
“Jus…My name sounds like another groan.
“That you, Ben?” I turn and jog toward our hangout, but don’t see him. He must be around the back.
I almost lose the lunch I didn’t eat when I find him. The scraped trail through fallen leaves shows where he dragged himself over to the tree. He’s managed to pull himself into a sitting position against the trunk. His shirt is off. One pants leg is soaked in blood. So is the shirt he has pressed against his thigh.
“You okay?” I ask, like an idiot. But there’s a lot of blood and I’m not good with blood.
He nods toward the chainsaw that lies a few feet away, the blade partway buried in the ground. Cody’s magic hat sits right next to it. “I slipped on the wet roof. The saw got my leg on the way down.”
He stares at the wadded-up T-shirt in his hands. I do too. The little wrinkles on his knuckles look like they’ve been traced with a red pen. “I can’t…stop the bleeding.”
My stomach flips and I hope I’m not going to be sick as I watch a fat drop of blood splat onto the ground. “Let me.” I kneel and put my palms flat against the bloody T-shirt and press down. “Pays to have a plus-size friend, right?”
His blue lips turn up in a half smile. “Funny,” he whispers.
“Yup, that’s me, Mr. Funny,” I babble. “By the way, Cass says hi.”
“Really? Tell her I say…hi back.”
“First chance I get.” I lean hard. Blood is still dribbling down the side of his leg. “What do I do, Ben? Tell me!”
His eyes close.
“No, wake up, Ben! Think health class. Think first-aid films. Come on, Ben,” I beg. “Tell me what to do!” He knows I slept through the first-aid videos in health class.
He shakes his head. “Told Dad I needed a cell phone. He wouldn’t listen.”
“Ben? You’re bleeding, big-time.”
His head falls back against the tree trunk. “Dad’s gonna kill me for taking the chainsaw.”
“Come on, Ben! What do we do?”
I’ll do whatever he says, but he has to come up with something.
“How about…a nap? I’m tired.” His eyelids drift shut.
“No!” For a second I pretend this is a video game. In my head, Ben loses some points, then leaps to his feet. “Ben?” I stare at my bloody hands—Ben is headed for Game Over. “I need instructions, like, right now!”
“Guess I’ll never get my driver’s license,” he mumbles.
I yank my T-shirt over my head and wrap it around Ben’s blood-soaked shirt, then tie it as tight as I can behind his leg. “Now what?”
“Go. Get help.”
Seems like a good idea for about three seconds, then the first spot of blood comes through my shirt-bandage. “There’s no time.”
He waves a bloody hand. “Just go. I’ll rest while…” His eyelids close again.
“Ben? Ben!” I glance around at trees and more trees and Cody’s monument to a bunch of dead people. “Hey! Can anyone hear me?” I yell. “Anybody out there? I need help!”
Someone who knows what to do has to show up, like, right now. This can’t be up to me.
Hearing a rustle, I whip around. It’s just a bird, scratching through the leaf litter looking for lunch. No one is coming.
“Think,” I mutter.
What are my options?
Stick with what I’m doing now? I glance down. Now my T-shirt is soaked too.
Go for help? But if I quit applying pressure he could die; I don’t need a first-aid video to figure that out.
I can’t go for help and I can’t keep doing what I’m doing. There has to be something else. I swallow hard.
There is.
My brother tried it out on me once when he was on leave from basic training. It’s called a “fireman’s carry.” Firemen don’t use it anymore, something about there being too much smoke and heat when you carry a victim up that high, but it’s still used in the military to get an injured soldier off the field.
Duane—especially after lots of one-armed push-ups for the sarge—is in great shape. Before I knew what was happening I was hanging across his shoulders. Then, being an instructional kind of brother, he’d showed me the steps.
“Ben.” I shake my injured buddy’s shoulder. “I gotta get you on your feet.”
He slaps at me. “Go away.”
“Stand up!” I put my hands under his armpits and try to drag him to his feet. I get him halfway up, then pin him to the tree by shoving my head into his stomach—my hands are still in his armpits, trying to keep him from sliding back down. “Straighten your knees,” I pant.
I hear the sound of his back scraping the bark as he pushes up, and—he’s doing it! “Steady…steady.” Before he can fall over, I drop to my knees and turn sideways to him as he topples. Just like Duane showed me, I have one of his arms draped over my shoulder, a leg draped over th
e other. The bad leg is hanging down my back, which is good, because me grabbing his bleeding leg would have to hurt. To hold him in place, I grip the leg and arm in the front, hard.
All I have to do now is stand up.
“Sorry about this. It’s probably going to hurt.” And by that I mean hurt both of us, because now I have to lift his full weight and my own. “One…two…three.”
He lets out a moan as I lurch to my feet.
“You’re killing me, Jus.” He says that sometimes when I make him laugh, but he isn’t laughing this time.
“No choice. I have to get you out of here.”
“Put me down. Right…now.”
“Can’t do that.” I fall forward a step. “You’re heavier than you look.”
“Lighter than I was…this morning.”
“Hey, funny is my department.” Man, I should save my breath. I think I’m going to faint.
I peer ahead, imagining Leroy cutting between the trees, all strong and in shape. Duane’s about a million miles away, but Leroy could happen—if we’d told him about Nowhere, and if he wasn’t doing time in summer school.
I’m not strong or in shape, and Ben is way heavier than he looks. I stagger forward. “Hey, Ben, this is like a summer camp relay race gone bad.” He doesn’t make a sound. “Not that I’ve ever been to camp.”
His bare skin feels clammy and cool against my back, and suddenly he’s slipping off my shoulders. “Ben, you gotta try to stay up there.” I bend forward and yank hard on his arm and leg, but he doesn’t make a sound.
Hunchbacked and panting, I travel as fast as I can, my brain jittering. What if I drop him, or trip over a root? What if he dies while I’m carrying him? What if he’s dead already?
“Ben, say something.”
I’m glad when he groans, overjoyed when he says, “You walk like…Frankenstein.”
“I take it that’s not a compliment.”
He doesn’t answer. I feel something warm and wet on my back and realize it’s my best friend’s blood. Can’t think about it.
I stagger toward help, but there are so many trees and brambles and low spots to stumble into, we don’t seem to be getting any closer.
“Hey, I forgot. Cass says she’d like to talk.” I thought that would get an answer, but it doesn’t.
The path that sketches through the trees goes on and on. My lungs are ready to bust out of my chest.
I’m not going to make it.
Story of my life—I try and I fail. I don’t try and I fail.
Justin Riggs carrying Ben Floyd more than a few feet? Stupid idea. Doomed. There must’ve been a better way, but Ben is the idea man. I’m the guy who says, “Sounds good to me,” and goes along. Now I’m killing him.
“Ben?” When he doesn’t answer I squeeze his arm. “Say something!”
“Okay, okay, I’m up,” he mumbles.
Through a break in the trees I see the shiny black of a hot tar road. I can’t believe it.
The maroon metal of a battered pickup flashes by. “Hey!” I yell, lurching forward.
Missed that one, but another car’ll come along any second.
Has to.
Jemmie
The sun beat down as we walked along, watching our feet. Cass hadn’t said a word since we left my house and we were almost to the edge of the neighborhood.
“Justin made it sound like Ben wanted to talk to me,” Cass said finally. Like I figured, she’d been thinking about Ben the whole time.
“Yeah.” He might’ve just said it to make her feel better—Big is like that. A trickle of sweat ran down my spine. “Sure is hot.”
Cass didn’t answer, just lifted her hair off her neck, probably making up what she was going to say to Ben when we got to Nowhere.
Under my breath, I hummed the tune Big had been playing.
Cass stopped. “You think this is a good idea?”
“Talking to Ben? Sure.” I gave her a shove. “You’ll be miserable till you do.” She went back to walking, eyes on the ground. Bet she was doing the he’ll-say-and-then-I’ll-say thing in her head.
I squinted, peering across the sunlit street toward the opening of the path we’d beaten down, so I was the one who saw them first. With the glare of the sun, it was hard to figure out what had just crashed out of the trees. I shaded my eyes. “Big?” I breathed. “Big!” I yelled. Then I ran across that road—forget looking both ways.
Big’s bare chest was heaving as he rolled Ben off his shoulders and into the weeds at the side of the road. “Oh no!” Blood streaked his white skin. “What happened, Big?”
“Chainsaw accident…at the hideout,” he gasped.
Cass dropped to her knees next to Ben, who lay real still. She knelt over him and started to cry.
Big’s hand was suddenly in my face. “Jemmie, give me your phone!”
I snatched the cell out of my pocket. “Want me to—”
He grabbed it and punched in 911. I watched him, ready to take over—I’m a nurse’s daughter. “What is your emergency?” I coached.
He turned away, listening to the operator.
“My friend Ben Floyd had an accident with a chainsaw.” Big turned back to me and pointed down. I needed to pay attention to Ben, not him.
Cass had Ben’s head in her lap and she was dripping tears on his face—a lot of help that was.
I checked on Ben—I’d never seen so much blood. Neither guy had a shirt on—looked like both shirts were bandaging the wound. I thought I’d have to redo it, but when I knelt down I could see Big had tied it good and tight. It was soaked through. All I could do was put my hands on it and press down. The blood felt sticky and warm as it seeped through my fingers. I stared at Ben’s chest, trying to see if it was moving, but I couldn’t tell for sure.
Never letting up the pressure on Ben’s leg, I talked to God the way Nana Grace does sometimes. Please, God. Get that ambulance here quick. Sometimes trains block the road into the neighborhood. No trains, God. Not now.
“We’re at the corner of Rankin and Rockwell,” Justin said to the 911 dispatcher. “We need help right now. He’s lost a lot of blood.” He listened for a moment, then said, “Ben Floyd. He’s thirteen.”
Cass, Big, and me pounded up the steps yelling for Nana Grace. She took one look and pressed her hand to her heart. “Sweet Jesus! What on earth?”
Big was too out of breath and Cass was crying, so I told Nana about Ben and how Big had carried him out of the woods.
“The ambulance took Ben.” Cass swiped her eyes with her wrist. “They wouldn’t let us ride along.”
“Y’all would’ve been in the way. They know what they’re doing.” She put a hand on Cass’s back. “Come on inside and wash up, all of you.” She took a hard look at “all of us,” like she was counting heads. “Where’s Cody?”
“Don’t know,” Big puffed.
Nana shook her head. “I have to get hold of the Floyds, but one thing at a time.” She put ice in glasses—she said we all needed to cool down.
Cass and I washed up first, sharing the kitchen sink. The water off my hands ran pink down the drain.
“Ben’ll be okay,” Nana said. Then she rested a hand on Big’s shoulder, sweat and all. “You sure are brave. Strong too. You saved that boy’s life.”
Cass wailed. None of us, except Nana Grace, was sure Ben was still alive, but if he was, my grandmother was right. Big had saved him.
While Nana went into the living room and called the Floyds, Big took his turn at the sink. His back to us, he told us what had happened before he and Ben made it to the road. Cass listened with her head down on the kitchen table. I wondered how Big had carried Ben all that way.
The water ran and ran. His arms were shiny-clean but he stayed where he was, facing the sink.
“Jemmie?” Nana said, coming back in the kitchen. “You think you can find that boy a shirt?”
“Yes, ma’am.” I had plenty of T-shirts, but none of them were big enough. Instead I went to Mom’s
room. She still had Dad’s T-shirts from his band, “The Mighty.” I’d tell her we didn’t have anything else to give him, nothing big enough and not girly, but the truth was, I wanted him to wear it. At least today, he was mighty.
I’d never been at the Floyds’ at night, and I’d never heard the house so quiet. I could’ve turned on the TV, but it didn’t seem right, so I sat at the kitchen table listening to the refrigerator hum. I could hear Cass talking to Cody upstairs. He was too old for tucking in, but after what had happened, he needed it.
As soon as they got the call, the Floyds had rushed to the hospital. Now everyone was there—Ben’s parents and grandparents, even my mom. They said Ben would be okay, but he’d lost a lot of blood and would have to spend the night in the hospital.
Cass and me were watching Cody until Mr. Floyd got home. Ben’s mom would spend the night in the hospital with Ben.
I stood up and wandered through the house. Ben’s basketball was on the coffee table. He wouldn’t be needing that for a while. I snuffed and wiped my nose with my wrist. To Kill a Mockingbird hung on the arm of the sofa.
It was on my list too. Guess I could hold his place with something and start reading, but I just hung it over the sofa again and kept walking through the rooms.
As I passed the front door for the third time, I jumped. A man stood on the porch, peering in. My heart pounding, I stared right at him. He had a scraggly beard and a skinny face. Nana Grace would probably want to feed him, but to me it looked like a face that should hang on the post-office wall with the word “Wanted” under it. What was he doing looking in the Floyds’ window?
He gave me a confused smile and shrugged, then pointed like he was asking if he could come in.
I glanced at the door—it wasn’t locked. All he had to do was turn the knob.
I smiled as I walked over. He smiled wider, showing off a broken tooth. When I got to the door I snapped the lock. “Get away from this door!” I yelled. “I’m calling the police!”
“Jemmie, what’s going on?” Cass called from upstairs. “Stay here, Cody,” she ordered, but I heard two pairs of feet run down the stairs.
Some Kind of Magic Page 15
