The Safety of Objects: Stories Read Online Free PDF Page A

edge of the court.
    “That’s fifteen straight up,” he said. I shrugged. I shot again and the ball sailed through the hoop.
    “Nice going, Johnny.”
    I caught the ball coming through the hoop and put up a hook shot. It went wide. The guy ran in, caught the ball, and held it pressed into his hip, like a teacher confiscating it.
    “My name’s not Johnny.”
    “Johnny’s not a name. It’s like ‘hey you,’ only nicer.”
    He bounced the ball a couple of times and then held it. “You ready to go? Your mother said I should pick you up. She had somewhere to go.”
    I remember being mad at my mother because she was like that. She was the kind of person who would take Rayanne somewhere and send someone I didn’t know to pick me up. She knew lots of people I didn’t know, mostly on account of Rayanne. She knew all the people who had retarded kids and I never wanted to meet them.
    “I was looking for you, Johnny,” the guy said.
    I shrugged. “My name’s Erol. Okay? Erol,” I said.
    He kept my basketball and walked toward his car. It was an old white station wagon, a Rambler with a red interior.
    “Did she have to take my sister somewhere?”
    “It’s okay, Johnny. We’ll stop at McDonald’s.”
    He talked like he didn’t hear anything I said. He talked like it was something he had to practice in order to get it right.
    “Are you hungry?”
    I’m not retarded. If something had been really strange, like if the guy had a wooden leg, I would have noticed. I would have gotten up from the table and walked away. I would have walked when he got up and said he was going to call my mom. He said he was calling to ask if she wanted us to bring home food for them. He left me at the table with burgers and fries, and I thought more about how many of his fries I could steal than whether or not I was ever going home again. I had no reason to leave; I was at McDonald’s with two burgers, large fries, and a shake. I didn’t know what crazy was. I didn’t know that sometimes you can’t tell the difference between a real crazy and a regular person and that’s what makes them crazy in the first place.
    The guy came back, said my mother wasn’t home, and that he was going to take me to his house until she got back. “Hey, hey, Johnny,” the guy said. In the car I played with my basketball. I turned it around and around on my lap.
    “I have to pick up something. Is that okay, Johnny? Do you want anything?” I shook my head. “Is there anything you want?”
    “No,” I said.
    I waited while he went into the drugstore. It was one of those times when the sun goes down but it isn’t dark yet. There was a weird blue light pressing down on everything, outlining it. I stood next to the station wagon and bounced the basketball.
    “Hello, Erol,” Mrs. Perkins said. She was pushing a grocery cart across the parking lot even though you weren’t supposed to. She was pushing the cart and it sounded louder than a train. The wheels kept going all over the place. Her two kids were there, squished into the little seat up front that barely holds one.
    “Hi,” I said as she passed me.
    “Are you with your mother?” she asked. Mrs. Perkins lived three doors down and thought that everything that had anything to do with anyone on our street was her own personal business.
    “I’m waiting for a friend of hers.”
    Mrs. Perkins shook her head and started pushing the cart again. My mother always said that Mrs. P. didn’t like us because there wasn’t a man in our house. She didn’t think that it was right, and my mother agreed with her. My mother thought there should be a man in the house, but after my father left she couldn’t find one. I think it was because of Rayanne. No good guy would want to live in a house with a retarded kid.
    “Who was that?” the guy asked when he got back into the car. “Don’t you know not to talk to strangers?” He slammed the door.
    “It was Mrs. Perkins. She lives on my street. She has two