Lalo Lespérance Never Forgot by Phillippe Diederich

Author:Phillippe Diederich [Diederich, Phillippe]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Young Readers Group
Published: 2023-09-12T00:00:00+00:00

26.

A little while later, I went back to the storage closet to find wires for my memory machine. Socrates’s car sat in the same place like a metal sculpture, but he wasn’t there.

I hurried inside and scanned the room for electric appliances. No way was I going to mess up the radio. But the microwave . . . I turned it over on its side, but the back was sealed with screws. I considered running home and getting a screwdriver or just smashing the stupid thing, but the radio caught my eye. It sat there as if it was waiting for me. I went over and turned it on. The bulbs lit up slowly, orange and blue dots reflecting against the glass of the picture of the ocean. The speaker buzzed lightly, then fell into that deep hiss. A moment later the faceplate lit up yellow, flickered a couple of times, and flashed, filling the room with light.

I saw myself sitting at the kitchen counter of a house I didn’t recognize. I was five years old. Claudio was probably ten. Ma was there, too. There were cardboard boxes on the orange floor. Terra-cotta tiles.

Ma set her purse on the counter and rubbed her temples. Her hair was a mess. She looked serious, angry, eyes red and dark all around like she’d been crying.

Claudio disappeared into a room. Ma followed him. Something was wrong, but I couldn’t tell what it was. Five-year-old me didn’t know what was going on, ignored them, stirred chocolate powder into a glass of milk.

“Don’t . . .” Ma was upset at Claudio. “You understand me? Just don’t.”

Claudio cried, “If he hadn’t been such a—”

“I’m asking you, Claudio. Por favor,” Ma said.

“But why—”

“He doesn’t understand,” she said.

“But if he—”

“What if it had been you?” Ma said. “What then?”

“But it wasn’t me. It was his fault—”

“Por el amor de Dios,” Ma cried, her voice tearing through the house. “I don’t want to hear another word about it! Ever!”

The house fell silent except for the tinny sound of the spoon against the glass as five-year-old me stirred the chocolate milk. When little me drank, I could taste the chocolate as if I was drinking it now.

Then Claudio yelled, “I hate him!”

Five-year-old me winced at the sound of Ma slapping Claudio. A moment later, Ma said, “You don’t. You’re just angry. You love your brother—”

“What about Papi?”

“Enough,” Ma cried. “I don’t want to hear another word about this, you understand?”

The door to the room flew open, and Ma marched out. She glanced at five-year-old me, then disappeared into another room and shut the door.

Claudio stepped out and stood at the threshold, stared at five-year-old me for a long time. The hate in his eyes made the back of my neck tingle. But five-year-old me didn’t get it. He just sat there, stirring his chocolate milk.

I wanted to say something, but it was like a dream. All I could do was see and hear—and taste. I was there but I wasn’t there.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.