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to Grandma’s promise like it was my only lifeline. I suppose, at the time, it was.
    And Grandma almost managed to keep her promise. For the next few years, I enjoyed something of a normal life. Well, as normal as can be for someone whose dad was locked up for nearly killing his only daughter. But living with Grandma seemed a fitting reward for the pain and suffering I had endured over the years, and while she didn’t baby and pamper me too much, she did make sure I got decent food to eat, had presentable, if not stylish, clothes on my back, and a clean place to sleep.
    And she loved me. Although she was never given over to emotional displays of affection, I felt certain she loved me. I know I loved her. And she brought a sense of real security into my shaky little world. Even if I did sleep on a cot in the corner of her tiny living room (in the little apartment above the store) it was still my space—my corner—and no one was allowed to disturb a thing there. I kept the old photo of my mama taped to the wall, right where I could see it every night before I went to sleep with the sound of The Tonight Show playing quietly on Grandma’s television. I even used to pretend Johnny Carson was my real daddy as I felt myself slipping off into a dream world that was most often better than real life. Later on I would add a picture of the Beatles to my wall space next to my cot. And from time to time I’d tape up a picture that I’d drawn myself—usually it was a horse or a little house in the trees with smoke coming out of the chimney and a rainbow overhead. But that’s where I drew the line in decorating. I wasn’t about to slather what little space I had with lots of dumb pictures. For the most part, Mama and the Beatles were plenty for me.
    My tenth birthday came not too long after I’d moved in with my Grandma, and to my surprise, Joey’s mom dropped him by to help me celebrate. At first I thought maybe Grandma had invited him over, but as it turned out Joey had remembered my birthday all on his own.
    “The fair wasn’t all that great this year,” he told me as he casually handed me a small, neatly wrapped box (he’d used the Sunday comics as gift wrap). “You didn’t really miss much.”
    I figured he was just trying to be nice since I’d been laid up with my broken arm and a couple cracked ribs during fair time. “What’s this?” I asked, giving the box a small shake.
    “It’s for your birthday, silly.” He rolled his eyes and made a goofy face.
    I carefully unwrapped the box to discover a small transistor radio inside. “Wow, Joey, this is really cool.”
    “See that?” He pointed to a funny-looking wire wrapped in plastic. “You put that plug into your ear and you can listen to music without bugging your grandma.”
    “Thanks so much, Joey. This is the best gift I’ve ever gotten!”
    Then he looked down at his feet, and I wondered if my gushy appreciation had embarrassed him, or maybe he was just feeling uncomfortable about my unfortunate situation. And then I wondered if perhaps he hadn’t bought what seemed an expensive and slightly extravagant gift to me because he felt sorry for me. And as much as I wanted and needed his friendship, I couldn’t bear to think it was based on pity.
    “Hey, can I sign your cast?” he asked suddenly.
    “Sure.”
    Then he pulled a blue felt-tip pen out of his pocket. “I came prepared.”
    I laughed and stuck out my arm and watched as he took his time to artfully pen his name in big balloon letters: The Amazingly Awesome Joey Divers!
    For the remainder of the summer, Joey came to visit me when he could, which wasn’t often because he had to ask his mama to give him a ride. I suspected she’d been secretly relieved that my nasty incident with my daddy had landed me on the other side of town where my less-than-wholesome influence might be a little more removed from her precious son, but I did appreciate her bringing him by sometimes, and I always enjoyed his