Pieces of My Mother Read Online Free PDF

had to be physically there as soon as he woke. I’d stand over his sleeping body, my hand on his chest, and assure him, “It’s okay. I’m here. I’m here, sweet boy.”
    â€œI’m here ,” I whisper now to my mom as she sleeps.
    A brown speckled hen from the yard suddenly trots through the open door of the bedroom, its yellow toenails clacking across the hardwood floor. It’s one of the many chickens that roam the property. I stand up to open the door wider and shoo the hen out. But the chicken skids sideways against the television stand and drops a gray and white splatter of shit at the foot of the bed. I try to corner the stray girl, but she starts flapping her clipped wings and crashes into the closet mirror.
    My mom stirs, and I watch a genuine smile form across her dry lips. She’s always loved to be surrounded by chickens. Me too.

THEN
big yellow house
    We are moving to a new house in a new town. I’ll be in kindergarten as soon as we get there. My dad tells me all about the house as he stuffs newspaper into the tall beer glasses from our kitchen cupboard. He tells me it’s a giant farmhouse with a fenced-in pasture, a little barn, a plum tree, and an apple tree that grows golden and green apples.
    â€œYou won’t believe it,” he says, “but I rescued the house. The fire department was going to burn it down. They thought they could use it for a practice fire.”
    More than anything, I want to know what color the new house is. “It’s a yellow house, a big yellow house,” he tells me. That makes me smile. It’s a perfect color for a new house.
    Then he tells me something even better. “The house comes with chickens.”
    That night, I can’t sleep because I keep thinking about the house that comes with chickens, and I have so many questions. I imagine chickens that are cream colored, black, and speckled. There must be red hens that lay warm brown eggs. There must be white roosters with bright red combs and yellow legs like pencils. I wonder if they are tame, if I can pet their high tail feathers. I turn from side to side, over and over in my bed, until I can’t stand it anymore.
    I tiptoe down the hallway to my dad’s room. I watch him through the crack of the door as he tosses his shirts and stretchy black socks into a cardboard box. His hair is a wild mess on top of his head. He and I both have the same type of curly hair that grows taller rather than longer. My dad picks up a can of beer from the top of a box and takes a long sip. He drinks a lot of beer lately. I know this because our garbage has been full of red-and-blue crumpled cans.
    He catches me peeking at him from behind the door.
    â€œMelissa,” he says, “you’re supposed to be in bed.”
    I tell him I can’t sleep because I keep thinking about the chickens.
    â€œIt is way too late to be thinking about chickens.”
    As I stand in the doorway searching for words, my chin starts to shake. I don’t want to cry but it’s too late. I am like the red water balloon that burst open in my hands yesterday.
    â€œWhat’s going on?” my dad asks.
    â€œNothing,” I say as I curl my toes into the thick shag carpet and straighten up my face.
    He sets down his beer and looks at me, and I think he might be trying not to cry too.
    â€œI was wondering if Mom has the directions to the house. I know she likes chickens. She always said so.”
    â€œDarlin’,” he says. Then he stops and turns his face away from me and sighs. “Your mom’s kind of doing her own thing right now. Remember?”
    â€œOkay.”
    â€œListen,” he tells me, “your mom can come see you anytime she wants—wherever we live.”
    â€œBut Jamie says she went far away.”
    â€œNot true,” he says quickly.
    I can tell he’s mad at Jamie for spilling that secret by the way he says “Not true” in a