Tietam Brown Read Online Free PDF Page B

been, found the ear in question, and tucked it neatly in the right pocket of my shirt, which had turned from white to deep red over the past half a minute. It was only years later that I learned that my right ear had never been found. Apparently I had placed Vinnie DelGratto’s tongue in my shirt.
    â€œMommy, Mommy,” Rachel cried on, and I tried my best to calm her. Maybe my words were wise, maybe not, but they were inaudible amid the sounds of that horrible night. Rachel’s cries, the sounds of the still-blaring radio, the whine of police sirens that now entered the night with their flashing blue strobes, shedding some semblance of light on the whole grisly scene.
    Then I saw her. Auntie M. Reaching out for me. Her face. Bruised but smiling. The blue lights danced off her big round frame, and I thought I’d never see anything more comforting in my life. God, I wanted her to hug me. In the rain, in the mud, with blood streaming out of the hole where my ear had been. One hug, and I’d be safe again. With the last of my strength I met her outstretched hand with mine, threw my body on top of hers, and held my sad, beaten face between the mounds of her warm, safe breasts. I looked up and saw her smile at me, the most peaceful smile I had ever seen. Then I put my head back into the safety of her bosom, and cried tears of joy until a man touched my shoulder and said “Son, you have to go.” I cried some more. “Son,” the man said again, this time a little louder, “it’s time to go.” I looked up and saw the last remnants of her peaceful smile being gently covered by a sheet. “It’s too late, son, it’s too late,” the voice said, and then I was being lifted off her body, my little face never to feel her safe breasts again. I looked again at the sheet, hoping for one last glimpse of her smile, and noticed that her severed head lay a good three feet from her body.

October 30, 1985 / Afternoon
    A week had gone by since my first date with Terri, and I had yet to redeem myself for my wasted kissing opportunity. But I knew that when the time was right, I would be ready. I’d been practicing. Yeah, that’s right, practicing. By taking what I’d seen on
Dallas
and
Dynasty,
and applying those same physiological principles to my pillow, I had come up with a technique that was sure to please.
    At Conestoga, I saw kissing every day, but they were sloppy kisses, public kisses, kisses that almost shouted out, Look, we’re kissing! I didn’t want to be part of those. My kisses would be different. Smooth, precise, and downright SEXY! Despite the fact that not a single soul could vouch for me, I knew I’d be good when I got the chance.
    For her part, Terri looked at ease with her shy, one-eared, one-handed boyfriend, but I found myself feeling somewhat less so. Not that I wasn’t proud and in love and thanking my lucky stars on a nightly basis, but the smug smirks and snide comments were starting to get to me. And of all the smug smirks and snide comments, no smirks were smugger, and no comments snider, than those of Mr. Hanrahan, our seventh-period history teacher who doubled as the school’s legendary football coach.
    I would watch him as he taught his class in his own unique style: reading directly out of the textbook, head down, no eye contact, with his hulking physique stretching mightily at his two-sizes too-small silk shirts. He sported a mullet-style hairdo that looked ridiculous even by the standards of 1985; a look that did nothing to conceal a Frankenstein forehead that seemed to grow larger every day. One day, just for kicks, I went down to the library (this was before Terri showcased her nose-and-ear wiggling abilities) and thumbed through the archives of past yearbooks just to get a look at Hanrahan’s ever-expanding brow. Sure he taught history, but he would have made a wonderful guest speaker for astronomy class, pulling down