Free Shaking the Sugar Tree by Nick Wilgus

either. I was nicely browned from playing a lot of Frisbee in the park with Noah. I was a dishwater blond, didn’t have to worry about hair on my back, and despite all of Mama’s warnings, there was still no hair on my palms. I had a big set of lips and knew how to use them. Several men before Jackson had lusted after my goods. I don’t recall any of them ever being disappointed.
    I dressed, rousted Noah out of bed, went to the kitchen to fix breakfast. KUDZU was playing “Living on Tulsa Time” when Noah sat down at the table and helped himself to milk and toast.
    “Good morning, kid,” I said.
    He smiled a secretive smile.
    “What?” I asked.
    I saw you kissing .
    Why weren’t you in bed? I asked.
    I was thirsty. It was yucky.
    He made an appalled face.
    I kiss you, don’t I? I said.
    That’s not the same!
    So you don’t mind….
    You can kiss him if you want to .
    Thank you.
    You’re welcome.
    He dug around distractedly in his bag.
    Can you mail a letter for me? he asked. K. helped me write it.
    The letter he handed me was carefully folded. A smiley face had been drawn on the flap. Beneath it were the words: I love you!
    I opened it:
    Dear Iron Man,
    I realy like your movie. You funny. You look like my dad but my dad hair realy long. I realy like be your friend. Please write me back because I love you. I deaf but I read sub title. I want you help mom. I don’t know where live she. I want you find her. Your friend, Noah Cantrell. PS—I live Tupelo, which is close Memphis. It’s where Elvis can be born. I show his statyou in park to you.
    I glanced at him and offered a frown.
    Your spelling is awful, I said, ignoring all the other thoughts that went through my mind .
    Do you think he’ll be my friend?
    Of course.
    Where does he live?
    Hollywood, probably.
    Do you think he can find Mom?
    I don’t know.
    I hope so.
    So do I.
    He returned to his breakfast, satisfied that his mission had been accomplished.

18) At the library
     
    I WENT to the Tupelo Public Library after work and picked up a sign-on card from the services desk and sat down at one of their Internet-ready terminals to check my e-mail. The card gave me an hour of Internet and computer usage.
    Like most people, my e-mail messages were a collection of junk. No message from my agent, impatient for my vampire-house-eats-unsuspecting-family story. No royalty reports or e-mails about checks in the mail. No publishers inquiring about foreign rights. No big shot Hollywood producers wanting to turn Dead Man’s Lake into a movie. Just endless messages about enlarging my penis and helping some poor Nigerian bastard transfer a billion dollars out of his country.
    I signed into Facebook and found a friend request from Jackson Ledbetter, which I happily approved. I spent most of my remaining time stalking his profile, looking at his pictures, inspecting his friends list, looking at which pages he liked, reading all his status updates going back to the beginning of the year as you do when you’re crazy about someone and you want to know all you can.
    Before I ran out of time, I searched on Google for Robert “Iron Man” Downey Jr.’s mailing address so that I could put Noah’s letter in the mail. The best I could manage was an address for Paramount Studios.
    Back home, I nervously picked up the phone and called Jackson Ledbetter. I was rewarded with his voice mail.
    I’m ditzy about phones. They make me nervous, and always have.
    “Hi. I wanted to invite you on a date. If you’re not working Saturday, let’s do the Furniture Market. Noah said he saw us kissing. Call me. Bye. Oh, by the way, this is Wiley. So. Bye.”
    Pathetic, I thought, hanging up the phone and putting it down on the kitchen table. Could I be more pathetic, as Chandler from Friends might ask.
    I put rinsed-off baby carrots in a bowl and gave them to Noah as I settled down on the floor with a pillow and World War Z . I lay parallel to the television and it wasn’t long before Noah