A to Z of You and Me Read Free

nipples.
    Orifice.
    We’re silent-laughing in that way that makes me kind of queasy. The mash-it-all-up childishness you can only get in a hot afternoon of triple science.
    Prick.
    Queer . A connecting line to the wrist.
    Rim.
    Slit.
    Tit.
    Urethra.
    Vadge, wang.
    Kelvin chews his pen while he mulls over the crowded diagram for what to put for X .
    In the meantime I add yum-yums , Zeppelins , and draw lines to the boobs with a grand flourish.
    Suddenly and with detached confidence, the new kid picks up his own pen, plucks off the lid, and writes X chromosome . He draws a line to the midriff. I look up at him, and he looks at me, and I don’t get it. But he smiles, and I smile back, and I look at Kelvin. Kelvin doesn’t get it either.
    â€œI’ll take that, thank you.” The paper is whipped from beneath my pen, and Mr. Miller leans on the new kid’s desk. “Malachy, I see it was a mistake to put you with these two. I’ll see all three of you afterward.”
    â€¢ • •
    â€œI still don’t know how Jef poaches those eggs so well,” says Sheila. “I try to do them at home, and they go all mangled.”
    â€œMangled eggs,” I say with a weak smile. I don’t mean it as a joke. Just reporting what my brain is feeding back to me. But it’s quite funny, I suppose.
    â€œHa! Mangled eggs. That could be my signature dish, couldn’t it?”
    Ah, I don’t know, I can’t eat. I’m made of stone inside. Honestly, I don’t want to be difficult.
    Sheila perches on the edge of the visitors’ chair and slots her hands between her knees.
    â€œI think it would be a good idea if you could manage just a little bit of it. You don’t want to make yourself feel worse by not eating. I know the last thing you want to do is eat, I really do. But believe you me, I’ve walked up and down this corridor for eight years, and I tell you, it always helps. It always helps when you eat it. Sets you right for the day.”
    I should. I know I should.
    â€œDo you want me to get him to make you some fried eggs? Honestly, it’ll be no bother. And if he says no, I’ll do them myself.”
    Bless her, she does try to make me laugh.
    What passes for a laugh these days. Wheeze and cough.
    â€œOr I could come over there and do choo-choo trains with you, if you’d rather try that,” she says, unclasping her hands and absently checking the positioning of the little upside-down watch clipped to her breast.
    I can feel myself being persuaded along, like a boat at rising tide, my hull lifting with the wash, scraping along the wet sand and stopping, scraping along and stopping.
    It’s you I need now.
    If I imagine it right, I can…I can sense you, enthusiastic you, telling me, Yeah, you can do it .
    I can do it.
    Of course you can.
    Of course I can. If I just…if I just remember you right…I can sense your face…the way it used to move when you’d decided on something.
    This is going to happen.
    Here it is. I love it. I love this blueprint of you, here in me.
    This is going to happen.
    It feels to me like you’re here. I can hear the comforting tones of your voice. I can actually hear the sounds. Or the memory of the sounds. They remain in my brain. I can be persuaded.
    What is that, when you can hear someone’s voice without really hearing it through your ears? I’m not hearing you, but I’m hereing you. I’m H-E-R-E-ing you. You ignite my gray brain. Light me up. Spark me into being.
    If you eat now, you’ll thank yourself later.
    I lift my heavy hand and reach out for the fork.
    I know, I know. I need to try to eat.
    Chew chew. Chew chew and think of you.
    Ankle
    Does it count in the A to Z game if it’s someone else’s ankle and not mine?
    I can’t beat the best ankle story of all time, which absolutely belongs to Laura. She went down in the history of our family with her ankle. I