For Today I Am a Boy Read Online Free PDF

wheelchair. The hard egg of her belly was pinned under a seat belt. She shoved the spoon away. “Where are my real shoes?” Her feet were elevated on the footrest of her chair, in soft-looking leather moccasins.
    The spoon knocked against the woman’s teeth. “Eat,” Helen repeated.
    The woman turned to Adele. “Do you know where my shoes are?”
    Adele perked up. “Nope.” Her voice bright, singsong. She got to her knees and pretended to look under the sofa. “Not here.” She opened the fridge. “Not here either.”
    The woman nodded solemnly. “Try the cabinets.”
    Adele walked around, loudly opening and closing all the cupboard doors. “Is it in this one? Nope. This one?”
    The woman tapped her chin. “Maybe someone hid them.”
    â€œMaybe,” Adele agreed.
    â€œShe can’t wear shoes because her feet are too swollen,” Helen said. “Don’t turn her against the nurses and the volunteers by telling her we steal her shoes.”
    â€œBut you do,” I said.
    The woman looked at me. She smiled. “Hello, Alfie.”
    I didn’t know what to do. “Hi,” I said.
    She gestured for me to come closer. Adele nudged my back, so I got out of the chair and stepped forward. The woman’s lips had sores in different states of healing, dry and wet. “How’s school, Alfie?”
    Helen held the woman’s chin firmly between her two fingers and turned her head. “You need to eat, Mrs. Harrison. It’s important.”
    â€œSchool is fine,” I said.
    Mrs. Harrison grabbed the spoon from Helen and wagged it at me. “Would you like some pudding, Alfie?”
    â€œNo, thank you.”
    â€œAlfie’s dead, Mrs. Harrison,” Helen said.
    â€œNo, he isn’t,” she said. “He’s right here. What are you, blind?”
    Helen knelt down between me and Mrs. Harrison. “What did Alfie look like?”
    She seemed confused. Her eyes dimmed as she glanced between us. Adele couldn’t stand it. “Of course this is Alfie,” she exclaimed, putting her hands on my shoulders. “He came just to see you.”
    Mrs. Harrison looked more foggy-eyed than ever, but she relaxed again. “That’s nice,” she said. She tucked her blanket around herself.
    Helen stood up. She pulled Adele over by the arm. “What are you doing?”
    Mrs. Harrison and I continued to smile dumbly at each other. “What harm does it do?” Adele asked. “It makes her happy.”
    â€œIt’s a lie.”
    Mrs. Harrison patted the back of my hand. Adele said, “So? Why tell her if she’s just going to forget? Why make her relive Alfie’s death over and over again?”
    â€œBecause those are her real memories.” Helen wiped her hands on her uniform smock. “You disrespect her dead son by encouraging her to forget him. What he looked like. How he died.”
    Adele continued to smile gently. “Why not just let her be happy?”
    Mrs. Harrison picked the pudding container up off the table. She held it out to me. “You need to eat, Alfie,” she mimicked. “It’s important.” Mrs. Harrison and I both glanced sideways at Helen, and we laughed together.
    Helen plucked the pudding out of her hand. To me and Adele, she said, “I think you should go now.”
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    Helen once told me that her favorite volunteer job had been picking up trash by the highway, because it gave her time to think. Even though she once had to scoop up human feces in between the discarded cans and waist-high dandelions. I asked her how she knew it wasn’t left by a dog, or a coyote, or a bear. “The size and the shape,” she said.
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    Our mother told the four of us to go see a movie, which meant she was sick of us. Helen mouthed SAT words as we walked:
abasement, harangue, obdurate.
We passed the laundromat, the forever-unsold lot. There