Where the Line Bleeds Read Online Free PDF Page B

her makeup. He didn't turn and say he was sorry.

    Christophe read the program and folded it in fourths and placed it
in his back pocket along with his own program. Who knows, he thought,
one day Joshua might actually want it. He heard Mr. Farbege giving the
opening remarks, and he tuned out as he began to make a list in his head
of where he and Joshua could go to look for jobs: Wal-Mart, the grocery
store in St. Catherine, the McDonald's.
    Joshua ignored the valedictorian and salutatorian's speeches, the
cheesy slide show (he and Christophe were in one picture: their hands
in their pockets, they stood outside on the benches used for break-he
thought that Christophe looked like he was high). When the principal
began calling graduates' names, Joshua waited patiently as he watched the
other students cross the dais: some of them danced and played the crowd
for laughs when they got their diplomas, some pumped their fists in the
air, while others walked across quickly, heads down, nervous, and seemed
to shy away from the applause that clattered from the stands.
    "Christophe DeLisle."
    Christophe rose, walked to the podium, and smoothed his gown.
Once there, he shook Mr. Farbege's hand with his left and grabbed his
diploma with his right. The leather casing was cool in his hand, and it
slipped slightly, and he realized he was sweating. The lights were so bright
and hot that he didn't attempt to look out into the crowd or find Ma-mee:
instead, he turned and put on his cockiest smile, hoping Aunt Rita was
relating everything to her, and walked off the stage.
    Joshua stood when he saw his brother exit.
    "Joshua DeLisle."
    Joshua ascended to greet the principal. He couldn't focus on Mr.
Farbege's sweating, red face or the secretary fumbling with the diplomas.
He turned to the audience, the lights blaring, squinted, and tried to smile.
He knew he wouldn't be able to make them out against the glare of the
spotlight, but he looked in the direction Ma-mee and Uncle Paul had
gone anyway, and tried to see if he could see her. He saw nothing but a
mess of faces and bright, bold outfits, so he raised his hand and waved a
little in their direction in time to the applause, and hoped that they knew
he was waving for them. He walked to his seat, shuffled past the rows of
the students, sat, and realized that he'd been nervous, that the tiny, golden hairs at the back of his neck and on his arms and legs were standing on
end. He shivered, feeling as he had when he was little and he'd run into
the river just after the sun rose. They'd camped with Aunt Rita and Uncle
Paul and the rest of the family on a Friday night, and he'd awoken the
next day before everyone else, jarred awake by the sand pressing into his
stomach through the sleeping bag where he'd slept on the floor of the
tent. He'd run out to the water, wanting to be the first one in, expecting
it to be languid and warm, but instead was shocked by the cold of it, the
bite of it on his legs up to his knees, how his skin seemed to tighten and
retreat across his muscles from the chill. He grimaced and gripped his
diploma. He couldn't believe that he and Christophe had graduated. He
leaned closer to his brother, sideways, in his chair, until he could feel their
shoulders touching. The litany of names was a buzzing drone in his head,
and he waited for it to end.

    The sun was turning the tops of the trees red, and from the woods
surrounding Aunt Rita's trailer, the night insects began calling to one
another, heralding the approach of the cooler night. Under the young,
spindly oaks dotting the yard, Christophe, Joshua, and Dunny sat at one
of several folding wooden tables in creaking metal and plastic chairs,
plates of food before them. Ma-mee ate slowly, feeling her way around
the food on her plate: tiny barbecued drumsticks, meatballs, and potato
salad. Children darted back and forth across the yard like small animals,
chasing and teasing each other in