The Bloody Souvenir Read Free

matter which way I moved my foot it throbbed as if beating inside the wound was a tiny, angry heart. I started to worry but then I got a grip on myself. “Suck it up!” I hissed. “A wound always gets worse before it gets better.” I didn’t know if that was true but Gary had said it was.
    The following day I got out of bed and my foot was like a hot anvil and the red streak was above my ankle and heading for my knee. I took a deep breath. “I’ll just pretend I didn’t see that,” I said bravely, and limped off to school, where all day I could think of nothing but my screaming foot.
    The next morning was worse. When I stood up my foot was killing me, and then I looked into the mirror and saw I was covered with hundreds of pussy little pink boils all over my body. “Oh, creeping crud,” I moaned. “I’m dying!” In a panic I hopped out of the room and careened off the walls all the way down to the kitchen, where my mother was making coffee.
    â€œLook at me!” I shouted hysterically, and held open my PJ top so she could see the boils. “I’m dying!”
    â€œMother of mercy!” she shouted in return, and stepped back in horror. “You are dying! Now get some clothes on and get in the car.”
    I chicken-hopped back up to my room and pulled on some clothes and my sneakers and met her at the car. She looked insane, so I thought I must be dying, and when she hit the gas, we flew out of the driveway and down the street. Gary Pagoda was standing on the corner. It was hard to tell if he was just coming home from a wild night out or if he was going to school because he had the kind of hair that was always damp-looking, so you couldn’t tell if he had just taken a morning shower or if he had a sweaty head from running from the police. As we passed him, I saw that he was holding a baby alligator between his thumb and forefinger.
    I waved to him.
    â€œDon’t wave to him!” Mom ordered. “You’ll only encourage his sick behavior.”
    I lowered my hand to my lap. As I did so, I saw the boils along my arms and closed my eyes. It scared me to look at myself.
    It didn’t take long for Mom to pull up to the hospital emergency entrance. “I’m warning you,” she said as she stomped on the brakes and threw the gear shift into Park. “You’d better tell the truth or I’ll kill you, because I’m sure you did something stupid.”
    â€œYou are scaring me,” I said weakly. “Please don’t.”
    â€œI’m your mother,” she replied. “I’m supposed to scare you, so don’t tell me how to behave. Now get a move on.”
    Inside the emergency room we were directed into a small alcove that was sealed off by a white curtain. I sat on a bench and my mother sat next to me.
    â€œWhat stupid thing have you done?” she whispered, with her fist hovering over her shoulder. “Tell me before the doctor gets here so you don’t embarrass me.”
    Just at that moment the doctor pulled aside the curtain. “Well,” he said, after taking a long look at me, “what do we have here?” He sat on a stool, and with the rubber tip of his pencil he began to poke my boils. He took my temperature and then looked inside my mouth.
    â€œI think he has done something stupid,” my mom blurted out. “He does stupid stuff all day long.”
    â€œIs there something unusual you have done to yourself?” the doctor asked calmly, trying to offset my mother’s tone. “You can tell me. I won’t think it’s stupid.”
    â€œWell…” I said, getting ready to tell him, when I made a mistake and glanced at my mom. That big fist of hers was still making a circle above her shoulder, and she was squinting at me like she wanted to split my skull. One wrong word and I knew she would knock me to the other side of the room.
    I turned back to the doctor.