Hit and Run Read Free

snorted. “You. Dancing.”
    â€œ
Slow
dancing,” Vin said. The dreamy look in his eyes was also convincing.
    We were heading over to Vin’s place when I heard a clattering sound. I looked across the street and saw a metal shopping cart crash to the sidewalk, spilling cans and vegetables and fruit everywhere. Mrs. Jhun was standing midway up the steps leading to her porch, one arm outstretched, one hand clutching the railing. She was staring straight ahead but didn’t seem to be looking at anything. Then her whole body wavered like an unsteady pile of boxes that was about to topple over. I dashed across the street. I probably should have looked both ways first. A taxi honked at me and zoomed by so close that I swear I felt the door brush my arm.
    â€œHey!” Vin yelled after me.
    I bounded up the steps and caught Mrs. Jhun by the arm. She was tiny. The top of her head barely reached my shoulder. I could have picked her up like a sack of groceries, there was so little to her.
    â€œMrs. Jhun?” I said. She was still staring out into space. I don’t think she even knew I was there, and that scared me. Her whole weight rested against me. I can’t be sure, but I think if I hadn’t grabbed her when I did, she might have tumbled down the stairs right after her cart. “Mrs. Jhun, are you okay?”
    She turned her head and looked straight at me. After a moment she said, “Hyacinth.” Now she was really scaring me.
    â€œMrs. Jhun?”
    She drew in a deep breath. She was still looking at me, but now her eyes came into focus. She seemed surprised to see me.
    â€œMichael,” she said. “What brings you here?”
    I was totally confused. She was acting like nothing had happened.
    â€œYour groceries, Mrs. Jhun,” I said, nodding at the bags that lay scattered on her cement walk.
    She gazed at them as if she hadn’t noticed them there before. I glanced around the porch, spotted a chair, and dragged it over.
    â€œYou sit down, Mrs. Jhun,” I said. “I’ll pick up your stuff.”
    She sat without argument. I straightened the cart and began to gather up the food—cauliflower, broccoli, a lot of other vegetables that I couldn’t name. Mrs. Jhun did most of her shopping in Chinatown. She also hauled her cart across town to the west end, to Little Korea. I picked up boxes of things—some of them pretty squashed—that had writing on them in a language I couldn’t understand. Chinese, maybe. Maybe Korean. I set everything back into the cart.
    â€œToo many groceries,” Mrs. Jhun said as she watched me. “Too many steps. And too many years.” I laughed at the last part. Mrs. Jhun was always talkingabout how she was old, but she didn’t look that old. Billy says that’s because Chinese people and black people don’t show their age the way white people do. But if you heard half the stuff Billy says about Chinese people and black people, you wouldn’t pay attention to his theory on aging.
    â€œYour eggs are toast,” I said. By the amount of goo leaking from the cardboard box, I guessed all twelve were smashed. “You want me to get you some more?”
    She sighed at the yolky ooze on her front walk.
    â€œHey, Mike!” Vin called from the other side of the road.
    â€œYour friends are waiting,” Mrs. Jhun said. “I can manage the rest. Thank you, Michael.”
    I waved to Vin—wait or go, the gesture said, it’s up to you. I carried everything into the house. Then I folded the cart and tucked it into a corner of the porch for her. It was only when I went back down the wooden steps that I noticed that one of them was broken.
    â€œDid you trip on this going up?” I asked Mrs. Jhun. “Is that what happened?” It probably wasn’t. She’d almost reached the porch when I first saw her. But a broken step—she could trip on it next time even if she hadn’t