Free Milk-Blood by Mark Matthews Page B

bubbles all over you and stays there. My stomach felt like I had to poop, but there was not much in my tummy anyway.
    The plastic seats of the bus ride bounced and jiggled my body, and the screechy bus noises vibrated through my temples. I closed my eyes and clenched my whole body together.
    “ What’s up with you?” an older boy asked.
    “ My heart. I’m getting it cut tomorrow. Don’t get close.”
    They left me alone and I got off at my stop. I avoided eye contact with Ciara and Ciana’s mom but she saw me anyways.
    “We’ll watch you walk home,” she said.
    I smiled back and looked at the ground and walked fast down the sidewalk as they watched me. It wasn’t long until I heard their door slam shut and they weren’t looking anymore. The only thing in sight were cars rushing too fast down the street.
    Why should I rush? There was no Nelson to go to. He wasn’t home. I had to get to something, I just didn’t know what.
    The smell of the burnt house was in the air. I looked up at the second floor where the window used to be. The big dark opening looked back down on me. If somebody was up there, they’d be able to see everything, but right now, all above was empty and quiet.
    I stared at the house the same way I always do, and it helped me forget some of my hurt. It was like a painting where the little details were different each day, and I had to try and guess what had changed. I noticed when the grass changed colors out front, noticed when a new piece of garbage was on the front lawn and when the stray dogs had split the bags open and flung the trash all about. In the spring, I noticed when new trees sprouted from the cracks on the porch. I could always tell if anything different was spray-painted on the sides. The day they boarded it up a year ago (that didn’t last) I dreamed it before it even happened.
    People try to take care of houses and people with heart defects, but it just doesn’t last.
    I stood and waited. Usually the man inside was pacing, smoking, mumbling about something, sometimes even other people were with him. But not this time. Nothing moved. Just dead silence.
    My gut gurgled like a gross potion was swirling inside, and I felt ready to have diarrhea. I put my hand over my belly as if I could calm it down. Nothing helped. I needed to move, to put something in me, to go somewhere, to call someone. Maybe if I just take Digoxin at home it can help. I can smash it up and eat it the way Dad does with pills to make them work better. Maybe just a peanut butter sandwich will help, but the bread was probably gone. Or tuna. I know there’s tuna, but that always tastes gross, and I can never work the can opener right.
    Or I could take one of Grandma’s Ensure drinks. Dad got mad if I did that, and Grandma always knew when I stole one even if she was asleep and couldn’t possibly see me. Every time I’d sneak one, Grandma would smack her lips like a zoo animal super loud. She wouldn’t stop until I finished the drink. Made me feel like I was making her starve, and like she was always watching me.
    But Uncle Nelson . His stuff would make me happy. He needed to be home soon. Maybe he would come home today. If not I will have to find someone else. I know some boys who know how to get H. I can let them know I am like them, that I can cuss and be as cool as anyone. Maybe I can get an older boyfriend who would hang out with me. I know a bunch of boys… (Darren Marshall, Cory Raymond) but they wouldn’t want a skinny-ass freak like me.
    Somebody had to help me or I’d go to the hospital and they would put the mask over me so they could cut me open and it would all go away and…
    Then I saw something in the grass. It was a foot. A big orange boot. I traced the leg up to his body.
    It was the man , the same one as always, lying in the grass. I never been this close to him but there he was lying there right in front of me. His arms were crossed on his chest and his big octopus fingers were locked