Free Always by Timmothy B. Mccann

truth is, I have not eaten a bite in the past forty-eight hours. I know I need to eat something, but I just can’t hold anything down. I’m running on two hours sleep. My hair is falling out. Need I say more?”
    â€œYou’re that nervous, huh?” he said from the bedroom as he popped the top of the can.
    â€œNervous, scared, pissed off, ashamed, scared, betrayed, tired, and did I say scared?”
    â€œYeah, you did, baby girl,” Myles said as he walked over to the curtains and looked out the window. “They call New Yorkers crazy. You know, there’s actually a guy in the building across from us wearing dark shades with his head hanging out the window? What’s up with that?”
    â€œYeah, I saw him earlier. It’s probably some photographer for a tabloid trying to get an exclusive, so unless you want to be on the checkout stand next week as the mystery man in my suite, I’d close the curtains. Besides, the Secret Service was up here a few hours ago and was adamant about keeping the curtains shut.”
    â€œMy bad. As I was going to say,” he continued, reentering the bedroom and sitting beside his sister, “it’s gonna be all right. I promise you it’s gonna be fine.” Then Myles, who was just under six feet with a pudgy frame, squeezed closer to his petite sister and rested her head on his shoulder. He held her as he had so many times as a child, when they watched Chiller Thriller together, although she was two years older than he. And then he took another sip of his tomato juice and made himself comfortable by loosening his Windsor knot and taking off his Senegal loafers. “So what’s the deal, baby girl? You wanna tell me about it now?”
    Looking down and gazing at the floor, she whispered, “Yes. Yes, I want to tell you everything. But please do me one favor.”
    â€œAw, sugar, anything. That’s what I’m here for. What is it?” he said, stretching his body and spreading his toes.
    Leslie turned toward her brother as her eyes darted back and forth, looking into each pupil. Then she replied in earnest, “Would you please put back on your shoes? Child, your feet still stank!”
    Myles laughed so hard he rolled off the bed, and Leslie fell back on the thick paisley comforter, holding her empty stomach to stop it from cramping while both howled as they had in years gone by.
    â€œSee. You wrong. You are so wrong. I fly three thousand miles just to console you and you talking ‘bout my feet?”
    â€œYou flew? Baby, the way your feet smell, I thought you walked here. I mean, honestly, I can’t deal with this election,not eating, and those hoofs. Either put on your shoes or we drop right out of the election tonight!”
    LESLIE
    Nineteen seventy-three? Whoa. Let me think a minute. Of course, ’73. That’s the year I first laid eyes on Henry. God, how could I ever forget that? This is how it happened.
    I attended school at University of Southern Cal. Although I wanted to attend school on the East Coast, Dad told me he would not pay for it, and I certainly wasn’t eligible for federal financial aid or anything, so I decided to go close to home.
    SC wasn’t that bad. I got to meet a lot of famous people, like Haywood Nelson. Remember him from What’s Happening ? He and I were supposed to go out once, but that’s another story. He was a nice guy, though. I also used to watch, with all the other girls, O.J. and A.D., Anthony Davis, run around the track there during the off-season. Yes, they were both very fine and O.J. was very married, but that never stopped them from flirting.
    Anyway, back to the story. I wanted to go to Europe to study like a few of my white friends’ parents let them do every year. Well, my dad, who always squeezed a quarter until the eagle screamed, told me no. But he said there was a lot of this country I had never seen, so if I made straight A’s, he