Vernon God Little Read Online Free PDF Page B

with water in my eyes, for Max, for all my classmates. The truth is a corrosive thing. It’s like everybody who used to cuss the dead is now lining up to say what perfect angels of God they were. What I’m learning is the world laughs through its ass every day, then just lies double-time when shit goes down. It’s like we’re on a Pritikin diet of fucken lies. I mean – what kind of fucken life is this?
    I drag the crusty edge of a T-shirt over my eyes, and try to get over things. I should clean up my mess, seeing as everybody’s so antsy, but I feel like smeared shit. Then a learning jumps to mind, that once you plan to do something, and figure how long it’ll take, that’s exactly how long Fate gives you before the next thing comes along to do.
    â€˜Vern?’ Mom hollers from the kitchen. ‘
Ver
-non!’

four
    â€˜
V er
-non?’
‘Do what?’ I yell. Mom doesn’t fucken answer. A typical mother thing, they just monitor the notes of your voice. If you ask them later what you said, they don’t even fucken know. Just the noises have to sound right, like, dorky enough.
    â€˜Ver-
non
.’
    I close my closet door, and step down the hall to the kitchen, where a familiar scene plays around the breakfast bar. Leona’s in the kitchen with Mom, who’s messing with the oven. Brad Pritchard is on the rug in the living room, pretending you can’t see his finger up his ass. Everybody pretends they can’t see it. See the way folks are? They don’t want to smutten their Wint-O-Green lives by saying, ‘Brad, get your fucken finger out of your goddam anus,’ so they just pretend it ain’t there. Same way they try and avoid the sting of mourning around this ole town. They can’t, though, you know it. Their ribs are pressed tight with the weight of grief. The only hopeful sight is Pam, beached on dad’s ole sofa at the dark end of the room. A Snickers bar appears from the folds of her moo-moo.
    I go to the kitchen side of the bar, where Leona’s still working up to her brags; she has to empty Mom out first, so her voice slithers up and down, ‘Oh how
neat
,
wow
, Doris, oh
great
,’ like a foam sireen. Then, when Mom’s all boosted up, she trumps her.
    â€˜Hey, did I tell you I’m getting a maid?’
    Mom’s mouth crinkles. ‘Oh –
hey
.’
    Hold your breath for the second thing. George blows ultra-slim cigarette smoke over Betty as they pretend to watch TV; their ultra-mild smiles come from knowing how many things there are.Mom just frets over the oven. Gives her somewhere to stick her fucken head if no more things turn up. A bug of sweat crawls down her nose, ‘Thk,’ onto the brown linoleum.
    â€˜Yeah,’ says Leona, ‘she starts when I get back from Hawaii.’
    The house sags with relief. ‘Well gosh, another vacation?’ asks Mom.
    Leona flicks back her hair. ‘Todd would’ve wanted me to do
nice
things, you know – while I’m
young
.’ Like: yeah, right.
    â€˜Hell, but I can’t believe today,’ says George from the living room. That signals the end of the brags.
    â€˜I know, I know,’ says Betty.
    â€˜You think things have gone as far as they can go, then –
boom
!’
    â€˜Oh golly, I
know
.’
    â€˜Six pounds if it’s an ounce, and I only saw her last week. Six pounds in a
week
!’ George weaves a trumpet of smoke around the words. Betty waves them away with her hand.
    â€˜It’s that diet, all those carbs,’ says Leona.
    Pam grunts darkly in back.
    â€˜I know,’ says Betty. ‘Why didn’t she stick to Weight Watchers?’
    â€˜Honey,’ says George, ‘Vaine Gurie’s lucky to stick to the seat of her damn shorts. I don’t know why she tries.’
    â€˜Barry threatened her,’ says Pam. ‘She has a month to ditch her flab, or he’s gone.’
    George