Two Girls Staring at the Ceiling Read Online Free Page A

swim
    in the middle
    of a freezing-cold night
    in the pouring rain
    with some boy who
    she won’t even tell
    anyone his name?”
    “That’s not the issue now.
    What’s important is
    finding out what’s—”
    “Not important?
    Getting home at three
    in the morning?
    Crying too hard to talk?”
    “What happened, Chess?
    I know you were sick,
    but something
    must have happened!”
    “Did that boy push
    you to do something
    you weren’t ready for?
    Did he …”
    “If there was a, like, asteroid
    headed for the Earth?”
    pipes up Natasha Oldenburg
    from fifth grade,
    “And the only guy you could find
    was, like, Mr. Flood, the septic tank man?
    Would you do it with him?”
    “What about Donald Trump?
    SpongeBob SquarePants?
    If you knew it was your
    one and only chance to ever know …”
    “WHY DO YOU THINK
    SOMETHING
    ‘HAPPENED’?
    “NOTHING HAPPENED!
    AND IT WAS NOT RAINING!
    AND IT DOESN’T
    MATTER
    ANYMORE
    WHO
    HE
    WAS!”
    My words boom
    in my ears,
    turn the air
    Nile-bile-algae-vile
    While David’s words
    on that endless drive home
    echo in my head:
    “You should have said something.
    If you’d just said something …”
    And the night beetles swarm.
    T he nurse sets down a basin
    of warm water, soap, and paper towels
    to clean up for the night.
    I ask her to help me scrub
    these damn wings
    off my hand.
    S omewhere in the clockless night,
    the sobbing starts, so quiet
    I have to strain to hear, so terrible
    I could believe it’s me,
    while on my other side
    Mrs. Klein demands a cab,
    her pocketbook, her shoes:
    “Sam, my pearls were right here
    and now they’re gone. Sammy,
    I told you that new cleaning girl
    would rob us blind… .”
    Then, from Shannon’s side again, I hear,
    “Do I really need another
    crazy person?
    Would somebody
    shut her up
    before I go
    friggin’
    ripshit here?”
    Trapped between voices,
    buzzing like a fluorescent
    tube about to die, I buzz
    for help, wait, buzz again,
    wait, until, not sure which side
    of the curtain creeps me out more,
    I unplug my wires from the wall,
    inch my pole around
    to the old lady’s side, and
    looking past her face,
    uncurl her hand.
    Her nails bite my palm;
    I want to flee. But from some
    forgotten corner of me
    in a voice that barely quavers,
    come the words I’ve wanted:
    “It’s gonna be all right.
    We’re here with you.
    You’re not alone.”
    Lizard eyes click open.
    “Who are you?
    Where’s Sammy?
    You stole my clothes!”
    “Me? No! No. Look at me.
    I don’t have clothes either.
    We’re in the hospital.
    No one here has clothes.”
    “Gimme that phone!”
    Scraggle-haired, red-eyed,
    Shannon stands beside me,
    turns thumb and pinky
    into a phone.
    “Hello, Sam?
    It’s me, Shannon.
    “How’re you doing tonight?
    So you know which shoes
    she wants, right?
    And you’ll be here
    in how long?
    “No, half an hour’s perfect, Sam.
    Don’t worry about a thing.
    Mrs. Klein’s doin’ fine.
    Just pick her out something
    nice to wear, okay?
    She’s gonna want to look good
    for going home.”
    Her voice gentles:
    “Okay, Mrs. Klein,
    he’s on his way. But
    traffic is terrible, he says.
    So don’t wait up.
    He’ll wake you
    when he gets here.
    “What’s that, Sam?
    Oh yeah, and he says
    tell you he loves you.”
    Her voice wobbles as she adds,
    “A bushel and a peck.”
    But Mrs. Klein’s hand’s
    already eased in mine.
    Her eyes flutter closed.
    I stand by her bed listening
    to the oxygen machine
    till Shannon raises a hand
    to slap me five,
    and mutters
    “Damn, I’m good.
    “Hell, I should have
    told him to bring us
    a breakfast burrito
    while he’s at it.
    And some coffee.”
    Her eyes slide away.
    “And underpants.”
    I know, I know, I know.
    I nod too many times.
    “Bring mine, too, Sam,”
    I say into my
    thumb and pinky phone.
    With proud, sad,
    crooked smiles
    we push our poles
    back to our beds
    to wait for sleep, or Sam.

THIRD DAY
    W hap!
    Just as the morning cart clatter
    starts, a box