Free Up From the Blue by Susan Henderson

Anne’s shopping cart going from aisle to aisle.
    “I see you like to dance,” she said.
    I hadn’t realized I’d been moving to the music, and was about to freeze in place when she smiled and danced a little on her side of the counter. I smiled back, and spun the way the Pips often spun behind Gladys Knight. She knew the same move, and by the time Anne reached the checkout, we had a whole routine.
    “I suppose I owe you for watching her,” Anne said.
    “Not at all. I enjoyed every moment.”
    Anne’s lips tightened. “Well, she’s not like this when I take her home. I try so hard but she’s … not an easy girl.”
    She slapped the groceries down on the checkout table, one after another. Outside, the rain came down harder, washing against the windows.
    When the storekeeper had packed the groceries into two bags, she said, “How ’bout Tillie stays with me while you pull the car up to the front?” And when Anne had left the store, she reached across the counter to smooth my hair, saying, “Thatta girl.”
    My knees and shoulders began to tremble. My mother was the last person to use those words, and they stung me. I walked to the window, unable to see past the rain, and poked my fingers through the holes of my poncho.
    I hadn’t let myself feel it yet, not really, but once I was in the car, thinking of the words again, I imagined it was Momma saying them to me, her bracelets jingling as she reached to caress the top of my head. As we drove slowly through the wet and muddy streets, I curled against the window, knees tucked into my chest, needing her.
    “You’re shivering,” Anne said. “I wish you’d worn long pants and a windbreaker.”
    I kicked the glove compartment hard with my foot, and it popped open, spilling papers and a box of Kleenex. My toe hurt.
    The only sound Anne made was one of her sighs, so confident that I was the one being unreasonable. I could practically hear my father telling me to be nice, to just sit there in my damp poncho and not complain of the itch. As the small yellow house came into view, I tried to prepare myself for the violins and for Anne with her teacup and her prissy laughter, but I couldn’t do it any longer. When Anne got out of the car, I slid over to her side and stuck my leg out her door. I closed my eyes tight while she slammed it shut.

6

Knots
    M Y SHRIEKING SURPRISED EVEN me. There were sharp pains and throbbing pains, and more nerve endings in my calf than I could have ever guessed. It felt good to scream; it felt good to be able to point to what hurt and call for Momma and to see Anne feel responsible for all of it. I hung in her arms, bawling, while she tried, but failed, to lift me inside.
    “Here, you’ll have to walk,” she said. “Lean on me.”
    I simply crumbled onto the porch. “Is it broken?” I sobbed. I hoped so; I’d always wanted a cast.
    “Stay here,” she said. “I’ll be back with some ice.”
    My leg swelled and turned from pinks to grays before my eyes. After what seemed a very long time, Anne came back with ice wrapped in a t-shirt. For once, she could soothe me.
    “A doctor’s on the way,” she said, sitting close and pressing the ice where the car door had left its mark.
    Each time I started to cry again, she pressed down on the ice while I shouted, “I want to go home!”
    I expected an ambulance with a siren and flashing lights, but when the plain white pickup pulled into the driveway, it was Walter with the handlebar mustache who got out.
    “I hear I might have to amputate, so let me have a look. My saw’s in the truck if I need it.” I yelped when he tried to bend and straighten my leg. “What happened?” he asked Anne over his shoulder.
    “She just put her leg out while I was closing the door.”
    “No wonder her mother went crazy.”
    “Sh,” she said.
    I screamed while he pressed along the bone. “I can’t think over the noise, Tillie,” he said, as if daring me to make another sound while he worked his