Free The Orange Houses by Paul Griffin Page A

to me , Hey—
    Everything was “too real.”
    She clicked off the aids. Her ear canals open, the sound didn’t cut out.
    No more silky silence.
    Everything far away but not far away enough. Unclear.
    She felt naked. She cupped her ears.
    Fatima nudged her. “No?”
    Mik put her old aids back in. “Why’d she make me do this? Wasting all that money.”
    â€œMaybe you will try again later.”
    â€œMaybe not.”
    Fatima nodded. “Regardless of whether you wear the new aids or don’t?”
    â€œYeah?”
    â€œLove Mom.”
    Â 
    DOC LIED, Mik signed. THEY’RE UNCOMFORTABLE.
    â€œWhat?” Mom said.
    Mik hung the dishtowel and went into her room. She pulled out her sketchbook and the new pen. She didn’t care that Mom followed and watched her from the door.
    â€œMika, you just have to get used to them. Can you at least take the old ones out of your ears?”
    â€œ Mom , just . . . Can you leave me alone? Please, okay?”
    Mom nodded. “I just want you to know, you hurt me, girlfriend.”
    â€œIt has to be my decision—”
    â€œNot that. Y’all do what you want with the aids. But the fact that you didn’t wait for me to be here with you when you turned them on? After all that time, the two of us working to get you to this point? All those hours I’m double-shifting, Mika? The years ? How could you do that to me?” Mom left.
    Mik followed her to her bedroom, knocked. She tried the door, locked.

chapter 25
    JIMMI
    Jimmi’s cave, Tuesday, eight days before the hanging, 11:00 p.m. . . .
    He was having a full-blown conversation with himself. “You won’t. I will . You ain’t got the heart. I won’t in a second.”
    He put the gun to his heart, pulled the trigger, click .
    He’d been doing this on and off for the last day, rehearsal for the real deal.
    He’d seen friends and enemies do it overseas. The rope and knife left grimaces on the corpses. The gun left no sign of regret. He slipped a bullet into the chamber and put the gun to his temple. He asked God to send him a sign about whether or not to snap the trigger. None came.
    He cocked the hammer, clamped his eyes, said, “If a better world than this.” He tried to see that world. He couldn’t. Instead he sensed what a blindworm must feel when it digs too deep: gritty dark.
    In that dark came a flash of Joe Knows, a scrap of memory: Joe laughing the time Jimmi brought him a cake for his birthday.
    Jimmi put the gun down. He had to do one last thing for Joe.

chapter 26
    FATIMA
    McDonald’s, Wednesday, seven days before the hanging, 4:00 p.m. . . .
    While Mik was in the bathroom Fatima studied a free Spanish paper. Articles were translated into English on the opposite page. Fatima taught herself the language as she hunted for news from the east. Word of Africa’s troubles had dropped from print for the most part, at least from the rag Fatima sold, but sometimes El Día covered world events.
    Not today.
    Mik came back. Fatima showed her how to make a dog out of a burger wrapper. This would be today’s lesson at the VA. YOU WILL LEAD THE CLASS? Fatima signed.
    NEXT TIME.
    â€œYou have been saying ‘next time’ many times now. But no pressure.”
    â€œNo, never.” Mik squinted. “That dude at the hospital, the head volunteer guy, he kind of creeps me out.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œYou don’t worry he’ll rat you out?”
    â€œNever. He is, how you say, off the hook cool.”
    â€œâ€˜Off the hook,’ huh?”
    â€œI am becoming very down with it. Now you must punch my knuckles.”
    Mik bumped her.
    Two cops came in. One checked out Fatima’s headscarf. He looked away to the dollar menu, no big deal. Still, Fatima said, “We should get to the hospital.”
    Outside, Mik said, “Let’s check with Jimmi’s boss to see if he came back to