Up High in the Trees by Kiara Brinkman

Author:Kiara Brinkman
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Grove/Atlantic, Inc.
Published: 2007-09-20T04:00:00+00:00

At the end of the pier, Mother dropped her favorite thing. It was an owl that she carved out of pink soap. She dropped the pink owl in the water to see if she would jump in to save it and she did.

The owl was different afterward because it was soap, so the water made it smaller.

First, I have to find my favorite thing.

EVIDENCE

In the closet, I find the box that says LOUISE AND ALEXANDER. I want to see a picture of Mother. I want to see her face. Most of the pictures are all the way down at the bottom of the box and there aren’t people in them, just things, like a beach or some trees or food on a table. I keep looking. I open a yellow brown envelope and inside is a picture of Mother. She’s holding a baby and laughing. You can see her face, but you can’t see her eyes because they’re closed. I slip it back into the envelope and then put that in my candy bag from Halloween.

I pick out two more things from the box. I choose a tiny umbrella—the kind they put in drinks at fancy restaurants. It’s green and can open and close, but I only open and close it once, because I know it’s old and maybe will break. The biggest thing in the box is a record. It doesn’t have a case like all of Dad’s records do. The record is black and yellow in the middle part and says, Steve Martin—Let’s Get Small. I don’t know who Steve Martin is. Maybe I will ask Dad.

I put the record in my candy bag and the tiny umbrella, too. Then I fold over the top of the bag so it’s closed and slide it under my bed.

When I go back downstairs, the front door is open and Dad’s outside on the porch steps. I go sit next to him.

Dad, I say, it’s cold.

I’m working on my breathing, Dad says. The cold air helps. He takes a deep breath and then blows out all of his air until he coughs.

I put my hand on his back. You’re okay? I ask.

I’m fine, says Dad.

I see then that he’s not wearing any socks. His feet are long and skinny and the cold is making them purple blue. I touch his foot.

Dad says, I can’t feel it—they’re numb. He picks up one of his feet and shows me how the bottom is cut up and bloody.

I can’t feel it, Dad says again.

What happened? I ask him.

I went for a walk, he says, I just wanted to walk.

Come inside? I ask.

He doesn’t say anything.

Please, Dad, I say, and my voice sounds like I’m going to start crying, so Dad says okay.

We go in and I lock the door behind us. Then we just stand there together at the bottom of the stairs.

Dad says, Go get me a pair of socks.

I run upstairs and bring them back to him. Dad’s sitting on the floor by the fireplace.

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