Pieces of Why Read Online Free PDF

left.”
    She pushed a newspaper across the table. The front page had a black-and-white photo of the abandoned car, and a fragment of the church was visible in the background. The headline screamed, INFANT KILLED, GUNMEN FLED.
    I gave an involuntary gasp.
“A baby.”
    Immediately, I thought of Keisha’s brother, Jerome. He was eleven months old now, all big brown eyes and rolls of fat.
    I sat down heavy, my legs giving way beneath me. Ma hesitated, like she wasn’t sure what to do. Finally, she reached over and patted my hand before drawing back to scrape at a splotch of dried ketchup on the table with her fingernail. Then she stood abruptly and went over to the refrigerator to get out the eggs. Her movements were quick and jerky, as if she couldn’t decide whether to comfort me or punish me.
    â€œSo, did this happen during your rehearsal?” she asked. “Why didn’t you call me at work?”
    I mumbled something about not wanting to bother her, and Ma grunted a response, but what that response meant, I couldn’t be sure. She moved to the stove and scrambled the eggs while I read the newspaper article.
    The baby, ten months old, had been shot by accident during an attempted carjacking. Two gunmen had fled on foot and police were trying to locate them. There was a number to call if anyone had information, and there was also a picture of the baby and his mother.
    â€œThe Raven woman,” I breathed. It was the dark-haired woman who lived on Seventh Street. She didn’t speak English and dressed in long skirts and shirts with flowing sleeves. We didn’t really know where she was from, but Keisha and I thought she looked like a raven because her hair was so black it almost shone blue. Plus there was something mystical about her that made it seem as if she might take flight. She lived with her husband and her—
    No, not her son. Not anymore.
    For a split second, the world went fuzzy, like it had before I fainted. But this time I held on, forcing my fists to unclench and my breathing to slow.
    â€œTia?” Ma studied me hard and then she walked over to snatch the paper off the table. Ma’s auburn hair was pulled into a sloppy ponytail, tied back with an old gray scrunchie. The lines on her face were strained as she dished me my scrambled eggs and cheddar grits. “You aren’t dwelling, are you?”
    D
welling
was what Ma called it when I thought too much about bad stuff. I didn’t answer, and she frowned.
    â€œNow look,” she said, real stern, as if dwelling were something I could get grounded for doing. “What happened to that baby is horrible, and we will hope for justice and mercy, but this burden isn’t yours to carry. We’ve each of us got our own burdens and they’re plenty big enough. Do you understand?”
    She looked me in the eyes and I nodded, but I’d already thought about those gunshots again.
Why do things like this
happen?
    A voice whispered in response.
    Because of people li
ke your father.
    I pushed the food around on my plate until I couldn’t sit still any longer. Then I stood up. “I’m going to meet Keisha early and hang out at her house today,” I said, trying to makemy voice sound normal. “The choir’s singing at the festival tonight, so Ms. Evette will bring me home.”
    Ma said, “Finish your breakfast,” and gave me a good hard stare until I sat back down and shoved in another bite of eggs and two more bites of grits. They tasted like paste and I could hardly make my throat swallow.
    â€œI’m not sure I like the idea of your choir being out so soon after—”
    â€œI’m
not
skipping choir,” I said. “I sing the lead, so I have to be there.”
    Ma took a step back, and I could tell she was surprised that I could be hard as iron too.
    I softened. “You could come tonight. Hear me sing.”
    Ma was shaking her head before the words were