Heft by Liz Moore

Author:Liz Moore [Moore, Liz]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9780393343885
Amazon: 039334388X
Publisher: W. W. Norton & Company
Published: 2012-09-04T07:00:00+00:00

• • •

Friday morning I wake up at 5:30 a.m. to the sound of my cell phone’s alarm clock and feel as if I have been dried out completely, as if I have no water left in my body. I tiptoe to the bathroom and guzzle water straight from the sink and then I put on my clothes from last night without showering. I stink of processed alcohol and smoke and filth. I smell in some ways like my mother.

The hood on my sweatshirt goes up again.

I throw as much of my stuff as I can fit into a duffel bag and sling the strap across my body.

I find the unopened envelope with my mother’s letter in it, the word Kelly smudged now from wear, and stick it into the back pocket of my jeans.

I poke my head out into the hallway and listen for a moment. I don’t hear anyone which is good. I tiptoe down the stairs.

Last night, after Mr. Cohen came outside, Kramer and Peters dragged Trevor out of the car and up the driveway toward the house. He could walk a little better on his own by then but he was still swaying.

Oh my God, said Mrs. Cohen, joining her husband. She had apparently sobered up herself while waiting for her son to return. She was wearing her bird-covered robe and had her arms crossed around her middle so tightly that her hands could have touched in the back.

Oh my God, Walt, look at him, she said, and Mr. Cohen said I see him.

Heeeeey, said Trevor, waving a lazy hand above his head.

The other boys did not know what to do and hung back. I knew just what to do and I walked up to Trevor and slung an arm around him, very responsible, and I said to them, I think we better get him some water.

The Cohens cleared a path for us and I brought their son inside and flung him on the first couch I saw and went into the kitchen and got him some water which he immediately spilled down his shirt. Then he lay back on the couch like a rag doll.

Oh Trevor, said Mrs. Cohen.

She went and tried to lift his head up with her hands and dropped it again.

Geddoud, said Trevor. Grronabed.

Walt, said Mrs. Cohen, and Mr. Cohen tried uselessly to do what his wife could not. Mrs. Cohen meanwhile went across the room and sat on the edge of a chair. Her knees stuck out of her bird-covered robe. The top of it fell open just a bit and I saw the inside of her right breast. Her bone-ridged chest. I looked away.

When Mr. Cohen had Trevor sitting up, he looked at his wife and then he looked at me.

Well, said Mr. Cohen. You know, I’m not quite sure how to handle this. He laughed a little angrily and squeezed the back of his neck.

I don’t want to put you on the spot, he said. Trevor needs to hear this too.

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