Free We All Fall Down by Robert Cormier Page B

Buddy said, capitulating.
But I didn’t pee against the wall. And I didn’t attack the girl.
    “Good, Buddy. Which means you’re one of us.”
    But I didn’t help the girl, either, did I? Did not come to her rescue like a hero. Some hero, Buddy.
    “See, Buddy? You’re not alone. You don’t have to drink alone.”
    Buddy let a sigh escape his lips. Then tried to inject his voice with more of the old sincerity.
    “I know that, Harry, and I appreciate it. But, actually, I
do
have all this stupid homework and I don’t feel that great. Maybe it’s the flu bug or something …”
    “Sure, Buddy. I was just checking in, anyway.” Brief pause. “Take it easy, Buddee.” French again. “Zee you around …”
    And hung up before Buddy could answer.
    Jane’s visits to the hospital had become as much a routine part of her life as going to school. Although Karen did not respond during Jane’s visits, she felt a closeness to her she had never known before. Sometimes she held her hand, placed her finger on Karen’s wrist and was gratified to feel the pulse throbbing regularly, strong and vital. She pretended the pulse was a kind of Morse axle by whichKaren was telling her that she would come back, don’t worry, all will turn out fine.
    Occasionally, when nurses had to attend to Karen’s needs, Jane wandered the hospital corridors, trying not to look into the rooms she passed, not wanting to observe other people’s misery or to invade their privacy. One afternoon, she discovered the hospital chapel. Barely a chapel, nondenominational, pews without kneelers, subdued lighting, a faked stained-glass window, back lit, set into the inner wall. Sitting in the pew, removed from all the activity outside the door, she discovered a kind of serenity. She even prayed, sort of, altering the old prayers of her childhood for Karen … “God is great, God is good, please help Karen to get better …” and “Now I sit me down to rest, I pray for God to help my sister.” … Should have felt silly doing such a thing, silly and irreverent, but didn’t.
    She realized that she had not really prayed for a very long time. Although she and her family attended Sunday services regularly, Karen had simply gone through the motions. Sunday mornings at the old Methodist church back in Monument had been more of a social act than religious. She liked to see the families gathering in the churchyard after services. Pastor William Smith had been old and holy and devout but also immensely boring. Here in Burnside, her parents had enrolled the family in the local Methodist church, a building so modern it resembled a recreation center, and the pews arranged in the round, like in a theater. The pastor here was not old or boring but he tried too hard, preached too long, and Jane’s mind wandered. Why do we go to church, anyway? she wondered. Somehow she believed—and did not know where that belief came from—that if you were kind and patient and did not hurt anyone intentionally, you would go to heaven someday.
Someday
seemed so far away that she did not think about itoften. But she thought about it now in the chapel. I must make myself a better person, she vowed. Ran through the Ten Commandments, those she could remember, shocked to find she could only think of two or three—Thou shalt not steal, thou shalt not kill, thou shalt not covet. She did not steal or kill or covet, dimly aware that
covet
meant being envious. But what was that to brag about? Honor thy father and mother. I must do better by my mother and father, she thought. Must be kinder to them, help them get over this. But didn’t know how.
    In the hospital chapel, she realized she had not been aware of that terrible smell for a few days. Had it gone forever?
    Returning from the chapel one day, she heard her mother talking to Karen as she turned to enter the room. Hoping that Karen could hear them, the family kept her up-to-date on what was going on at home, and in the neighborhood. Her