Marvel and a Wonder by Meno Joe

Author:Meno, Joe [Meno, Joe]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Book, ebook
Publisher: Akashic Books
Published: 2015-07-01T07:00:00+00:00

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After another hour they decided to park at a state-run rest stop. The drainage from the gunshot wound—which had been begun to ache sharply these last few miles—had soaked completely through the bandages.

“I oughta go change this dressing,” the grandfather said, looking serious.

The boy had no idea what kind of pain the old man felt. He climbed down from the vehicle, walked around the front of the truck, and helped his grandfather hobble across the slate-gray parking lot. The old man shuffled lamely into the flat-roofed brick building, and together they sought out the men’s room. Inside, the boy got the old man set up in stall.

“It might be a little while,” the grandfather said. “Don’t wander too far.”

The grandson stumbled out of the restroom, into the lobby, and then over to a white-lit vending machine. It looked like all the candy was seventy-five cents. He checked his pockets and found he only had two quarters. He sighed, turned, and saw a number of arcade game consoles—Tetris, at which he was an unacknowledged master, Mount Holly having no machine anywhere in town, and the childish, repetitive, meathead-favorite Mortal Kombat. He decided at once he would add his name to the high-score roll on the Tetris machine, slipping both quarters inside the narrow slot, cracking his knuckles as the screen booted up. A few moments later, already onto the fourth level, he saw—in the brightly colored reflection of the glass before him—someone observing him from over his shoulder. Feeling self-conscious, he craned his neck and saw it was a girl, a fair-looking one, standing behind him. There was nothing remarkable in her face or appearance and yet, simply knowing she was there, his hands became paralyzed. One, then two, then a third block descended from the top of the screen, before he regained his senses, maneuvering them into their proper place, his score immediately doubling.

“My parents told me to come talk to you,” the girl whispered, not moving any closer.

Quentin was so shocked by the funny lilt of her voice, as it rung there in the air—the sound containing all the secrets of a girlhood spent in the safety of the suburbs of some Southern city, an entire clandestine world Quentin would never, could never understand, not even amongst the most peculiar distances of his own imagination. Hearing that particular soft, mannered voice, he lifted his eyes from the video machine and turned, the colored blocks onscreen now piling up, the boy immediately forfeiting the game.

“They said I had to talk to you,” she repeated.

He faced the girl. No girl had ever said more to him than she already had. In a white shirt and jeans, she was frowning, eyes as bright blue as a bird’s egg, hair long and light blond, her skin white and scrubbed. She was taller than he was.

“They asked if you wanted to come pray with us,” the girl said.

He glanced over and noticed the girl’s parents standing in front of their station wagon, both of

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