You Remind Me of Me Read Free Page B

ambulance men bend over him, the corpse of a small boy laid out on the bathroom’s black and white tiles. The men are silent and gentle and godlike. He pictures them as kindly aliens, with round, interchangeable heads and large eyes. His grandfather must be there somewhere, off to the edge of things, but he can’t see him. By this time, Elizabeth is dead. He can picture her, not far from where he is lying, Elizabeth on her side, her legs limp, paws turned inward, mouth slightly open, eyes staring as his own eyes are staring. A line could be drawn between their two eyes, his and Elizabeth’s—two points, A and B, beginning and end.
    ——
    Jonah’s grandfather used to tease him all the time. It wasn’t mean-spirited, he didn’t think. Just something his grandfather did to amuse himself. He remembers the day before he died, the day before Elizabeth attacked him, an ordinary after-school afternoon, not long before his mom got home from work, when his grandfather called to him.
Jonah!
he called, in his wry, raspy voice.
Come quick! Come and look!
And Jonah had stood there eagerly as his grandfather pointed out the back window, toward the railroad tracks, where some boxcars were parked.
I see the carnival came through here last night,
he said.
Look at that! They left an elephant!
    Where?
Jonah said, and tried to follow his grandfather’s finger.
    There! Don’t you see it?
    No.
    It’s right there—where I’m pointing. You don’t see it?
    No . . .
Jonah said doubtfully, but he craned his neck.
    You mean to tell me you don’t see an elephant standing there?
Jonah’s grandfather demanded.
    Well . . .
Jonah said, not wanting to commit himself.
Well . . .
he said.
    Jonah scoped along the lines and shapes outside the window again. He didn’t see the elephant, but then, after a time, it seemed that he did. In his memory, there is still the figure of an elephant, standing at the edge of the train tracks. It curls its trunk, languidly, thoughtfully, and brings a piece of hay to its mouth.

2
    Spring 1977, Spring 1978
    Around the time that Jonah was being brought back to life by the paramedics, Troy Timmens was reclining in a beanbag chair in a trailer house on the outskirts of St. Bonaventure, Nebraska, watching some teenagers smoke marijuana. It was late afternoon, about five o’clock, but with the curtain drawn it could have been any time at all. Troy leaned back, settling more deeply, aware of the satisfying crunch made by the Styrofoam pills inside the beanbag chair as he applied his weight to them. He supposed that he was fairly content.
    The trailer house he was sitting in belonged to his cousin Bruce and Bruce’s wife, Michelle. Troy had gotten into the habit of stopping by their place after school, staying until dinner or beyond, staying until well past his bedtime. If she asked, he told his mother that he had been baby-sitting for Bruce and Michelle’s two-year-old son, Ray, and often that was true. It didn’t matter. Troy’s parents were engaged in the final stages of falling in hate with each other, a stretch of many months that was leading toward their divorce, and everyone involved was pleased to have Troy elsewhere.
    Troy was happy at Bruce’s place. It was comfortable and exciting, a world he connected vaguely in his mind with California and rock stars. He loved the things they owned: the black-light posters with their pictures of wolves and skulls and lightning bolts, the stacks of record albums and tapes, the beaded door that led to the kitchen, the refrigerator with an automatic icemaker built into the door, a possession Troy admired, along with stereo systems and microwaves and Corvette automobiles. They always had the newest kinds of chips and snacks that Troy had seen advertised on television, and he was welcome to eat as much as he liked. And the living room, he thought, was breathtakingly luxurious. There was the smell of incense sticks, drifting up from the glass-topped coffee table, and