A Trick of the Light Read Online Free PDF Page A

several times is like being thrown back into the murky depths of a scummy pond. I’m like an unplugged appliance. I observe Mike as if he’s in a movie—there’s Mike, hanging around with Tamio, who keeps telling him not to be so nervous and to ask Valerie out already; there’s Mike, unable to work himself up to ask Valerie out; there’s Mike, eating much too much.
    One morning Valerie shows up at school with a tiny limp. The way Mike reacts, you’d think the universe was collapsing— he practically gushes with concern.
    Mike: “What happened to you? Are you all right?”
    Valerie (with a shrug): “Oh, it’s nothing. I landed badly after a jump.”
    Mike: “You shouldn’t carry such a big backpack.”
    Valerie: “Mike, I’m fine. I’ll be dancing this afternoon.”
    The bell rings, and a few kids bump into them.
    Mike: “Be careful.”
    Mike actually offers Valerie his arm. It’s a ridiculous gesture and Valerie almost laughs. Then she looks at him with those smoky gray eyes. She doesn’t laugh. She takes his arm and they walk like that, just halfway down the hall to homeroom. The hall is crowded, so the other kids can’t see. It’s their pathetic little secret.
     
    Then, unexpectedly, one afternoon in the third week of September, things start to go my way again. Mike comes home from school to see his mom standing in the living room, dressed in a light-gray suit and holding her enormous book.
    Mom: “I have a client in Spruce Hills. Do you want to come along?”
    Mike: “Not really.”
    Mom: “It’s only a studio apartment.”
    Mike: “I don’t want to clean out someone’s apartment.”
    Mom: “It’s only a closet. One closet.”
    Mike remembers those closets. He used to go with his mom in seventh and eighth grade, before he started working at the baseball camp. One woman slept on a bed piled high with mail and magazines; she squeezed into a narrow space between the papers and the wall. Another kept bank statements in her oven.
    Mike: “I have homework.”
    Mom: “Can’t you do it after? Mike? Please.”
    Mike is weakening. She hasn’t worked in a couple of weeks. He thinks maybe this will help her get back on track. He notices that her skirt and jacket are covered in black cat hair, and he brings her a lint brush so she can take it all off. There’s really no reason for Mike to go, but then, I’m not part of this decision.
    Mike: “Fine.”
     
    They take the Q22 bus to Spruce Hills. Mike wonders where Valerie Braylock was born. Was that her house, the one with the big leafy tree out front, full of shrieking birds? Was that where she had her accident, the one that gave her that tiny scar below her left cheek?
    Mom: “Look at that. Do you see my hair sticking up?”
    Mike: “What?”
    Mom: “In the reflection.”
    Mike’s mom isn’t looking out the window. She’s looking at herself in the window.
    Mom: “I just had it cut last month. It’s supposed to be in layers. It’s not supposed to be sticking up.”
    Mike: “Your hair’s fine.”
    Mom: “Remember Grandma Celia?”
    Mike: “Of course I remember her. She died like a year ago.”
    Mom: “Closer to two. She was so critical. ‘Why don’t you sit up straight?’ ‘Why do you bite your nails?’ ‘Why do you have circles under your eyes?’ If I said anything in my own defense, she said, ‘You’re full of excuses!’ I can hear her just now—‘Why is your hair such a mess?’ Her voice was so big, bigger than she was. I can still hear it.”
    Mike (suddenly interested): “You hear a voice in your head?”
    Mom: “Grandma Celia was so quick to anger. Not like you, Mike.”
    Mike wonders why he isn’t quick to anger, and is that a good thing?
    Mom: “Grandma Celia never understood a word you said. But you never got mad—you just repeated yourself until she did. I hated her for it. I thought she was torturing you.”
    Mike: “It’s okay.”
    Mom: “Oh, God.” She sighs. “Is your father as tired of me as I am of