Glass Boys Read Online Free

the brothers were unable to clearly see what was happening in this backyard. They did not notice young Garrett Glass’s face, the pink welt that caused his left eyelids to kiss, purplish bruise that spidered out from his cheekbone. Or that Eli Fagan’s wife was holding her diminutive son firmly by the straps of his wet overalls, and that he fought her, writhing, gnashing his teeth. They did not see her catch his wrist, twisting, his knees buckling until he squatted down, subdued, on a worn hump of grass. They did not heed her face, lips pale, eyes numbed and drowning inside their sockets, how her rake hand leapt to cover her mouth when Roy and Lewis appeared at the edge of their yard. They failed to see the fragments of broken black plastic, the shards of glass from a shattered pickle jar, lying in the grass near Eli Fagan’s feet. Or that he was stabbing his arm into smoke and flame, poking, poking, deep into the rusting barrel with a sharp kitchen utensil. They did not know he was deafened by the crackling, the snaps and pops, and they never sensed the depth of his anger, how it cranked his shoulders up, how it enabled him to drive his hand into ripping fire without feeling a single pinch of pain.
    Arms flailing, an exchange of some sort when Roy reached Eli. Lewis could not make out what was being said. The words, after bumbling across the yard, were distorted and watery. As Lewis watched, the two men seemed to embrace, hold each other for a moment, like old friends. But when Lewis caught sight of Eli’s face, it was hot poker red. And then Eli shifted, and Lewis saw Roy’s face, his features pulled back in a strange sort of smile. Then, an altogether different sound showering down from up above. A sound a young deer might make, if shot, but only wounded. Lewis scanned the woods, then looked towards his brother, whose head was arced backwards now, searing cry erupting from his mouth. Hands to his bare stomach, and brightness tumbling from somewhere beneath his fingers.
    Mind shocked sober, body slower to respond, Lewis stumbled across the yard, falling forward, knuckles grazing spots of grass, then gravel. He caught his brother as he collapsed, back bowed, pinning Lewis to the ground. “Jesus Christ. Help him,” Lewis tried, but the phrases were trapped beneath his tongue, sounding nothing like they should. Thin liquid poured down over Roy’s abdomen, belly button filled, fish-stained jeans soaked, soil drinking. Lewis cranked his neck, looked this way and that. Eli and his wife were gone, and Garrett, the boy, was beside the barrel, eyes slit by smoke, trying to hook something out with a serving fork. Hugging Roy as best he could, Lewis tried to whisper into his ear, “Shush, shush. Someone’s coming for you. Someone’s coming. Going to be alright.” Wrapping his arms around Roy’s waist, Lewis moved his hands over his brother’s muscle and skin and thick pelt of fat. As he gripped, two fingers slipped into a hot opening in Roy’s flesh. He’d located the source of the rapid blood loss. Lewis pressed hard, tried to plug the hole. But it was a useless consummation.

3
    THE AIR INSIDE the courthouse was cold, and smelled of paper and wood. Lewis sat in a hard-backed chair, fingers knotted together in his lap, rib cage shivering and sweating inside his dress coat. “I don’t care what he says. I know what he did.” Fourteen months Lewis had waited for this day, and he was struggling to stay seated.
    â€œBut did you actually see him commit this act?”
    Lewis mumbled. “I saw.”
    â€œOkay.” The lawyer paused. “I will rephrase my question. Do you remember? Do you remember seeing your brother die?”
    â€œI was there.” He let his nails bite the backs of his hands. “I was right there.”
    â€œYes, sir. That is not in dispute.” The lawyer stood directly behind Eli Fagan, then leaned forward, gripped