Castles Read Online Free Page B
the trailer with a few bags of groceries. My heart was beating too fast and my lungs burned with the fires of the hot desert air. I prayed she didn't see where I'd come from, but in a sense, I was pining to tell her. Grandma would understand. Grandma would say everything was going to be all right. I just couldn't see the big picture right now.
In the safety of the trailer park and confined by the fences I should have never crossed, I slowed my pace and looked back.
The Bus stood like a memorial against the azure sky.
CHANGES
1
I never told Grandma what I saw in the Bus—neither the body nor the tongue thing—but I think she knew. I felt ashamed, like maybe I had stumbled on something I wasn't supposed to see. It was no longer just a matter of disobeying; I was given a glimpse of something so horrible at an age where I should have been protected from all things bad.
The dreams stopped abruptly the night I returned from the desert. The singing men and their carousel were no more. It wasn't until months later, shortly before I turned ten, that I dreamed of anything remotely related to what I'd seen. I started sitting outside with Grandma in the evening, and I asked her once—as innocently as I could—what one of my dreams meant.
"What did you see?" She rocked back in the chair and stared out at the horizon. The clouds had built early that day, and in my heart, I knew another storm was brewing.
"A tongue. Just a tongue on the floor the trailer." I didn't want to look up at her. I felt uncomfortable at best and probably a bit ashamed. What nine-year-old dreams of a tongue?
"What did the tongue do?"
"It cried and broke in two."
Grandma laughed and I felt all the tension in my body quickly slide away through my toes. I crossed my legs and smiled weakly. I felt silly.
"A tongue that cries, Maggie. My, what an imagination."
"Why would I dream of such a thing?"
Grandma didn't say anything for a moment, probably trying to come up with an answer. Finally, I heard her lean forward. I could sense the smile on her face fade slowly. When I looked up, I was right. "Do you have a boyfriend, Maggie?"
I blushed. There were many boys at school I liked, and a few of them lived in the trailer park with us. I never considered any of them boyfriends , however, just boys that looked and smelled nice. "No, Grandma. Boys don't like me."
"Oh, but I think they do." She put her hand on my head and passed her fingers through my hair. "Doesn't that Michael fellow always walk with you from the bus stop?"
"Yeah, but he's just a friend. He doesn’t like me."
Grandma smiled. What did I know? "Watch him a little closer, dear. You'll see."
I pulled my eyes away from Grandma and looked at the clouds in the distance. They seemed to churn like smoke from a fire, ready to do God's bidding and clean up another mess. I felt butterflies in my stomach dance, but I didn't know if it was related to the storm or to Grandma's words. Maybe it was a combination of the two. Maybe it had to do with Michael instead.
"Men are evil creatures, Maggie."
I looked back at Grandma as the butterflies exploded in spasms of painful agony.
"The tongue of a man is like a snake's," she said. "It splits in two. On the one hand, it can talk nicely to you and make you feel good, but turn it around and the tongue will curse at you, call you bad names and make you feel small. You watch out for the tongue of a man."
"Is that why I dreamed of a tongue?"
"You're feeling something for Michael. He tempts you and I can't blame you. The temptation of a man is impossible to fight off, and you have to be ready when the tongue strikes back."
To say I was confused at that point in my life was an understatement. It was Grandma, in fact, who once told me that love between a man and woman is the greatest thing in the world. It creates things, much like God creates the weather. Billions of drops of water, she said, come together and dance on the wind. They feed off each
In the safety of the trailer park and confined by the fences I should have never crossed, I slowed my pace and looked back.
The Bus stood like a memorial against the azure sky.
CHANGES
1
I never told Grandma what I saw in the Bus—neither the body nor the tongue thing—but I think she knew. I felt ashamed, like maybe I had stumbled on something I wasn't supposed to see. It was no longer just a matter of disobeying; I was given a glimpse of something so horrible at an age where I should have been protected from all things bad.
The dreams stopped abruptly the night I returned from the desert. The singing men and their carousel were no more. It wasn't until months later, shortly before I turned ten, that I dreamed of anything remotely related to what I'd seen. I started sitting outside with Grandma in the evening, and I asked her once—as innocently as I could—what one of my dreams meant.
"What did you see?" She rocked back in the chair and stared out at the horizon. The clouds had built early that day, and in my heart, I knew another storm was brewing.
"A tongue. Just a tongue on the floor the trailer." I didn't want to look up at her. I felt uncomfortable at best and probably a bit ashamed. What nine-year-old dreams of a tongue?
"What did the tongue do?"
"It cried and broke in two."
Grandma laughed and I felt all the tension in my body quickly slide away through my toes. I crossed my legs and smiled weakly. I felt silly.
"A tongue that cries, Maggie. My, what an imagination."
"Why would I dream of such a thing?"
Grandma didn't say anything for a moment, probably trying to come up with an answer. Finally, I heard her lean forward. I could sense the smile on her face fade slowly. When I looked up, I was right. "Do you have a boyfriend, Maggie?"
I blushed. There were many boys at school I liked, and a few of them lived in the trailer park with us. I never considered any of them boyfriends , however, just boys that looked and smelled nice. "No, Grandma. Boys don't like me."
"Oh, but I think they do." She put her hand on my head and passed her fingers through my hair. "Doesn't that Michael fellow always walk with you from the bus stop?"
"Yeah, but he's just a friend. He doesn’t like me."
Grandma smiled. What did I know? "Watch him a little closer, dear. You'll see."
I pulled my eyes away from Grandma and looked at the clouds in the distance. They seemed to churn like smoke from a fire, ready to do God's bidding and clean up another mess. I felt butterflies in my stomach dance, but I didn't know if it was related to the storm or to Grandma's words. Maybe it was a combination of the two. Maybe it had to do with Michael instead.
"Men are evil creatures, Maggie."
I looked back at Grandma as the butterflies exploded in spasms of painful agony.
"The tongue of a man is like a snake's," she said. "It splits in two. On the one hand, it can talk nicely to you and make you feel good, but turn it around and the tongue will curse at you, call you bad names and make you feel small. You watch out for the tongue of a man."
"Is that why I dreamed of a tongue?"
"You're feeling something for Michael. He tempts you and I can't blame you. The temptation of a man is impossible to fight off, and you have to be ready when the tongue strikes back."
To say I was confused at that point in my life was an understatement. It was Grandma, in fact, who once told me that love between a man and woman is the greatest thing in the world. It creates things, much like God creates the weather. Billions of drops of water, she said, come together and dance on the wind. They feed off each
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