Beneath a Meth Moon Read Free Page A

something a little bit broken. Looked like some little kid’s electric toy that was short-circuiting out.
    It’s all gonna be all right, T-Boom. We’re all gonna be all right.
I started walking backwards away from him.
No worries, T-Boom. We don’t have any worries.
    T-Boom watched me. He said something, but I couldn’t hear it. Then he stepped back, gave me a long, broken-faced look—like everything in the world that was wrong was his own fault—and closed the door.

other houses
    AFTER I LEFT the House that night, snow started falling. It was early April, but snow was coming down. Not hard, just flakes of it, like tiny lights in the darkness. As I passed by window after window, I saw smiling families around dinner tables. It wasn’t until I walked past the last window that I saw a woman carrying a ham to a table decorated with colored eggs and green plastic grass. I stopped then and stood there in the darkness watching the family bow their heads. It was Easter Sunday. A little boy turned in his chair and seemed to look straight at me. We stayed like that for I don’t know how long—me looking into his life, him looking out at mine. Then the others raised their heads and he turned back toward the dinner. The moon was floating through me, and I smiled, thinking about Jesse Jr.—his face pressed against the car window, his eyes begging. Something warm and wet was surrounding me, and I laughed at the heat inside the snow. The hurt of wanting the moon was gone now, replaced by something heavy. Not heavy. Light. Free. I was free. Tears. The warm thing wasn’t snow. Where were the tears coming from? Who was crying on me? I stopped walking and wiped at my eyes, but whoever was crying on me kept on crying. I laughed, and the tears came harder. Jesse Jr.’s face faded away, and Mama was there, laughing. Behind her, my grandmother, M’lady, sat on a porch, rocking slowly, looking at me like she couldn’t quite see me.
Laurel?
She leaned forward and squinted into the darkness.
Is that you? Laurel . . . ?
    I walked faster, away from her. I didn’t want her to see me with all of this water coming out of me. Didn’t want her to be reminded.
    Laurel.
    I tried to run, but the hurting was back, and the cold was like a wall pushing against me.
    Laurel!
    I stopped—my breath coming heavy—and turned, ready to tell M’lady and Mama to go to Jackson.
It’s dry in Jackson.
    Laurel, is that you?
    Slowly, Mama faded, and M’lady turned into my friend Kaylee, shivering on her front porch. I looked around—how had I gotten on her street when Donnersville was in the other direction?
    We stared at each other a long time. I could tell she was looking me over, taking in my ragged coat and bloody lips.
    Laurel,
she said,
look at you. Look at yourself! Who did you turn into?!

pass christian, mississippi
    THE CITY OF PASS CHRISTIAN sits right there on the Gulf of Mexico—blue-gray water and white sand so pretty my daddy used to say it reminded him of my mama’s hair. Go down to the water, and the peace comes over you so deep you’d think it was the true ocean even if you’d never seen the sea. Hot wind damp with salt all day long until your skin freckled all over. If somebody would’ve told me that water and that sand and the way that wind blew my hair into my face wasn’t always gonna be there, I would have looked at them and laughed and said what my daddy always used to say:
You ever met a person from the Pass that gave up when times got hard?
    In 2005 I was eleven years old, and I’d been in Pass Christian, right close to Long Beach, Mississippi, all my life. Since third grade, all I ever wanted to do was tell stories. I’d tell them to whoever was listening, and most times that person was the Grandlady of the House—my mama’s mama. From the time I could talk, she’d said that’s what I had to call her, not