The Run
We was only two blocks away from the orchard, an’ Jimmy kept yellin’ at me ta run.
“Run!” he hollar’d, “Run!”
How fast is a seven-year-old s’posed ta’ run? I’d done everythin’ but cry ta’ get ‘im ta’ stop, or least slow down. We could still hear that fat fly catcher of a dog raisin’ the devil back at the orchard.
“Jimmy, wait up!” He didn’t answer me none, jus’ kept a’ runnin’. He was four years older ’n me, so I figure he just naturally run better on account he’s bigger.
“Jimmy!” I started ta cry ’cause I was mad at ’im. An’ my chest hurt from chokin’ an’ coughin’ on the dust we was kickin’ up. I looked up an’ seen Jimmy lookin’ back. His eyes showed he was a’scared, but his face showed he was mad, prob’ly at me for slowin’ him down again. I jus’ stood there bawlin’ an’ sputterin’, tryin’ ta catch my breath. He come runnin’ back, an’ I ’spected ’im ta yell at me again. Always been that way, I guess, ’cause he’s my brother an’ all.
“For cryin’ out loud, Patchy! What’cha cryin’ for?”
“‘’Cause you won’t—wait—up,” I sobbed.
Jimmy jus’ stared at me. His face had at least as much dust on it as mine, ’scept where sweat ran. He was tall an’ skinny, with eyes too big for his head. His friends called him “Bug” ’ ’cause of it. I jus’ call ’im Jimmy.
“C’mon, Patchy, we gotta’ hide. Mom’ll tan our hides for sure we get caught again.” He took my hand an’ squeezed it a little. “And quit your cryin’, we’re gonna be fine. ’Sides, if ya’ don’t, the hound will hear ya’.” I jus’ kept a’ starin’ at ’im, but I felt better ’cause he was holdin’ my hand ’stead of runnin’ ahead. He wasn’t as mad as I thought he was. “Now hush the hell up and let’s get us behind them tangled trees and stuff by the creek.”
He pulled me a little bit, but at least I could breathe now. Jimmy hopped an’ jogged down to the creek; I ran an’ jumped, but never let go ’is hand. The sticker bushes scraped on our jeans an’ old sneakers ’til we come across a little openin’ in the bushes. I kept watchin’ over my shoulder t’ see the hound. I couldn’t see ’im but sure could hear ’im barkin’ an’ fussin’ somewhere. We finally done made it t’ the creek, and we splashed in t’ it. The water felt good on my hot, tired feet, an’ it made a sorta laughin’ sound as it went ’round us.
“Jimmy,” I tried ta’ whisper over the creek, “our shoes is wet. Momma’s gonna kill us!”
“Momma ain’t gonna kill us, Patchy, damn, shhh!”
“How come you say so many cuss words since Daddy died, Jimmy?”
“On account I promised him I’d be a man an’ take care of you and Momma, and all men swears a bit.”
I thought ’bout that while we walked in the creek. My pant legs was soppin’ wet below the knees, but I kept thinkin’ anyways.
“But Jimmy,” I said, “the preacher don’t cuss none, an’ he’s a man.”
All of a sudden we stopped dead. Jimmy put his finger against his lips so’s I know ta’ not talk, then he looked all ’round. I didn’t hear the hound no more, but Jimmy was bein’ real careful, so I didn’t move or nothin’. After a bit he bent over an’ looked at me funny.
“Do you know for sure the minister don’t swear?”
I hadn’t thought of that. Jimmy was smart too, so I’m glad he’s my brother an’ not someone else’s.
“C’mon Patchy, I think we’re in the clear now. Damn it, I hate that smelly hound!” Jimmy mussed my hair as we walked up the other side of the creek, our feets squishin’ an’ makin’ mud where we stepped in the dirt. I didn’t care what Jimmy said, I still worried Momma was gonna be real mad ’bout our soakin’ feet. Worse, she’d prob’ly spank us an’ send us to our room without supper for what Jimmy had in his pockets. I was too hungry for that.
Our lil’ two-room house wasn’t much t’ look at, but it was all we had. Jimmy ’n me was finally on the dirt road that stopped at our house. Jimmy was walkin’ kinda’ fast, so I had t’ skip a bit jus’ t’ keep up. When we reached the back corner, the part where all the wood is split ’n cracked, Jimmy stopped real sudden,
“You let me talk to Momma when we go in, okay,” Jimmy said grownup like. “You go wash up real good while I get supper ready.” I jus’ nodded an’ ran straight from the porch, through the front door then straight to the bathroom an’ took off my soppin’ shoes first thing. Wasn’t too long ’fore I heard Momma’s voice yellin’ for me.
“Patchy,” Momma hollar’d, “time for supper.”
“Comin’, Momma!” I ran through our small livin’ room an’ into the kitchen.
Jimmy was jus’ sittin’ down an’ Momma had rolled up t’ the table already with her fav’rite shaggy blanket over her legs. Her wheelchair was the best chair in the whole house. Jimmy knows all ‘bout the accident an’ said he’d tell me later, when I’m older.
Momma cleared her throat like she always does before sayin’ som’thin’ serious.
“So, Patchy, Jimmy tells me y’all had quite an adventure comin’ home from school today.”
I looked at Jimmy first before talkin’.
“Yes, Momma.”
She didn’t say nothin’ for a minute, jus’ looked at me then at her plate. Guess the apple halves an’ bread was interestin’ t’ her.
“Did you put them wet sneakers in the tub?” she asked while cuttin’ a piece of apple.
“Yes, ma’am, I did.”
“Then sit down and say your grace before ya’ eat.” She smiled, so I knowed we wasn’t gonna get spanked. I told God thank you for that when I said grace.
“Sure wish I could’a seen you runnin’ today, Patchy,” she said with a smile in her eyes. “Jimmy says you’re gettin’ faster all the time.”
I felt a kick under the table. Jimmy grinned at me with his mouth full.
“I’ll run for you anytime, Momma. Jus’ tell me when.”
Momma, she looked right at me, her pretty eyes sparklin’ jus’ like her smile. I grinned back at her then took a bite of my apple.
Maybe runnin’ ain’t so bad after all. Good thing I like apples.