Sparrows Falling From The Sky 8 & 9

^^^EIGHT^^^

I DON’T KNOW HOW IT HAPPENED, BUT ONE MORNING Dante came over and decided he’d be the one to give me a sponge bath. “Is it okay?” he said.

“Well, it’s kind of my mom’s job,” I said.

“She said it was okay,” he said.

“You asked her?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh,” I said. “Still, it’s really her job.”

“Your dad? He’s never bathed you?”

“No.”

“Shaved you?”

“No. I don’t want him to.”

“Why not?”

“I just don’t.”

He was quiet. “I won’t hurt you.”

You’ve already hurt me. That’s what I wanted to say. Those were the words that entered my head. Those were the words I wanted to slap him with. The words were mean. I was mean.

“Let me,” he said.

Instead of telling him to go screw himself, I said okay.

I’d learned to make myself perfectly passive when my mother bathed and shaved me. I would shut my eyes and think about the characters in the book I was reading. Somehow that got me through.

I closed my eyes.

I felt Dante’s hands on my shoulders, the warm water, the soap, the washcloth.

Dante’s hands were bigger than my mother’s. And softer. He was slow, methodical, careful. He made me feel as fragile as porcelain.

I never once opened my eyes.

We didn’t say a word.

I felt his hands on my bare chest. On my back.

I let him shave me.

When he was done, I opened my eyes. Tears were falling down his face. I should have expected that. I wanted to yell at him. I wanted to tell him that it was me who should be crying.

Dante had this look on his face. He looked like an angel. And all I wanted to do was put my fist through his jaw. I couldn’t stand my own cruelty.

^^^NINE^^^

THREE WEEKS AND TWO DAYS AFTER THE ACCIDENT, I went to the doctor’s office to get new casts and x-rays. My father took the day off. On the way to the doctor’s office, my dad was very talkative—which was very weird. “August thirtieth,” my dad said.

Okay, so that was my birthday.

“I thought maybe you’d like a car.”

A car. Shit. “Yeah,” I said. “I don’t drive.”

“You can learn.”

“You said you didn’t want me driving.”

“I never said that. It was your mom who said that.”

I couldn’t see my mom’s face from the backseat. And I couldn’t exactly lean over. “And what does my mom think?”

“You mean your mom, the fascist?”

“Yeah, her,” I said.

We all busted out laughing.

“So, what do you say, Ari?”

My dad sounded like a boy. “I think I’d like, you know, one of those low-rider cars.”

My mother didn’t skip a beat. “Over my dead body.”

I lost it. I think I probably laughed for five minutes straight. My father joined in the fun. “Okay,” I said finally. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“I’d like an old pickup truck.”

My mother and father exchanged glances.

“We can make that happen,” my mother said.

“I only have two questions. The first question is this: Are you getting me a car because you feel bad that I’m an invalid?”

My mother was ready for that one. “No. You’ll be in invalid for another three or four weeks. Then you’ll do some therapy. Then you’ll be fine. And you won’t be invalid. You’ll just return to being a pain in the ass.”

My mother never cussed. This was serious business.

“What was your second question?”

“Which of the two of you are going to give me driving lessons?”

They both answered at the same time. “I am.”

I figured I’d let them fight it out.

***Download NovelToon to enjoy a better reading experience!***