messes of other people. What Grandma told me when I was six was gospel: storms are God's way of sorting it all out.
"I think God was trying to work on your mother, tonight."
I frowned as Grandma's words wormed their way out of my memory. Were the eels there for Mama as well? What messes did she have to clean? Grandma never did tell me what happened to Joe, nor did I ever learn about all the other people that came into the house, made Grandma say mean things after they abused Mama and were never heard of again. Maybe Mama had learned to clean up her own messes, and all those men in the carousel were . . . were . . .
What happened to Daddy?
The back of the Bus shook as the head of the wave collided with it. I looked at the bag containing Dusty as sand blew in through the broken windows. It wasn't long before the air was thick and choking, charged with static. I stepped back into the passenger's seat and waited.
The bag stirred in the wind. My heart stopped for a moment as I considered the possibility that Dusty was still alive and Justin and I had buried him without checking. But his throat was cut, his tail snipped off, his leg severed. Dusty had to be dead.
I crawled to the back and knelt over the bag. I never thought I'd have to open the thing, but it dawned on me then that the dust eels needed to feed. How could they if I'd wrapped up their dinner in plastic?
I untied the drawstring and slowly opened the end. The smell of dead flesh stung my nose and forced an involuntary spasm in my stomach. I took a deep breath, covered my mouth and lifted the opposite side of Dusty's coffin to let his remains fall to the floor of the Bus in a pile of matted and bloodied fur.
My stomach turned again and I threw up.
It was too much to see. I invited death into my life, but I didn't want it to stay any longer. I dropped the bag and turned back to the front just as the first eel latched onto the dog's flesh and tore inside with its horrendous teeth. I could hear it tear off a chunk and chew. More sounds followed: hissing and biting, high-pitched screams that melded with the wind. The Bus shook more as hundreds of eels poured through the windows.
I didn't turn around this time. I sat in the passenger seat, leaned my head back and cried. I wanted that peace to come to me, that sense of completion. Grandma hinted at it and I believed it. The dust eels needed to hurry up and get it over with.
One of the eels slid next to my ear. I could feel its breath on my neck and smelled something stronger than the strongest alcohol. " You have other messes, Maggie, " it whispered. " You're not done yet. "
I scrambled out of the Bus and fell on the ground. The wind whipped the sand around me like a rock in a stream. It stung my face, pushed my clothes aside and pelted my side. I looked up with my back against the wind. Everything appeared to be wrapped in a deep red fog, and no matter how long I looked or how much I squinted, I couldn't make out the lights of the trailer park in the distance.
The sound of the eels feasting and squealing inside the Bus grew louder. I didn't fear for myself, but I didn't want to stay any longer.
I stood up, wiped the tears from my cheeks with sand encrusted palms and ran.
7
Mama stood at the door when I got home. She crossed her arms and looked at me sternly. "Where have you been?"
I had to catch my breath before answering. I leaned over and looked at the dirt on my shoes, the sand on my knees and the cuts on my hands. There was no way I could make up a lie quick enough to keep her wrath at bay.
"I was cleaning my mess." I looked up.
As the wind died down around us, I watched what I thought was the hint of a sly smile slither across Mama's face. "It's about time," she said and opened the door to let me inside.
MR. PULMAN AND STEVE
1
Mama met Billy Pulman in the grocery store. That's the story she told me as I sat on the couch during the spring of my sixteenth year and watched the two of
"I think God was trying to work on your mother, tonight."
I frowned as Grandma's words wormed their way out of my memory. Were the eels there for Mama as well? What messes did she have to clean? Grandma never did tell me what happened to Joe, nor did I ever learn about all the other people that came into the house, made Grandma say mean things after they abused Mama and were never heard of again. Maybe Mama had learned to clean up her own messes, and all those men in the carousel were . . . were . . .
What happened to Daddy?
The back of the Bus shook as the head of the wave collided with it. I looked at the bag containing Dusty as sand blew in through the broken windows. It wasn't long before the air was thick and choking, charged with static. I stepped back into the passenger's seat and waited.
The bag stirred in the wind. My heart stopped for a moment as I considered the possibility that Dusty was still alive and Justin and I had buried him without checking. But his throat was cut, his tail snipped off, his leg severed. Dusty had to be dead.
I crawled to the back and knelt over the bag. I never thought I'd have to open the thing, but it dawned on me then that the dust eels needed to feed. How could they if I'd wrapped up their dinner in plastic?
I untied the drawstring and slowly opened the end. The smell of dead flesh stung my nose and forced an involuntary spasm in my stomach. I took a deep breath, covered my mouth and lifted the opposite side of Dusty's coffin to let his remains fall to the floor of the Bus in a pile of matted and bloodied fur.
My stomach turned again and I threw up.
It was too much to see. I invited death into my life, but I didn't want it to stay any longer. I dropped the bag and turned back to the front just as the first eel latched onto the dog's flesh and tore inside with its horrendous teeth. I could hear it tear off a chunk and chew. More sounds followed: hissing and biting, high-pitched screams that melded with the wind. The Bus shook more as hundreds of eels poured through the windows.
I didn't turn around this time. I sat in the passenger seat, leaned my head back and cried. I wanted that peace to come to me, that sense of completion. Grandma hinted at it and I believed it. The dust eels needed to hurry up and get it over with.
One of the eels slid next to my ear. I could feel its breath on my neck and smelled something stronger than the strongest alcohol. " You have other messes, Maggie, " it whispered. " You're not done yet. "
I scrambled out of the Bus and fell on the ground. The wind whipped the sand around me like a rock in a stream. It stung my face, pushed my clothes aside and pelted my side. I looked up with my back against the wind. Everything appeared to be wrapped in a deep red fog, and no matter how long I looked or how much I squinted, I couldn't make out the lights of the trailer park in the distance.
The sound of the eels feasting and squealing inside the Bus grew louder. I didn't fear for myself, but I didn't want to stay any longer.
I stood up, wiped the tears from my cheeks with sand encrusted palms and ran.
7
Mama stood at the door when I got home. She crossed her arms and looked at me sternly. "Where have you been?"
I had to catch my breath before answering. I leaned over and looked at the dirt on my shoes, the sand on my knees and the cuts on my hands. There was no way I could make up a lie quick enough to keep her wrath at bay.
"I was cleaning my mess." I looked up.
As the wind died down around us, I watched what I thought was the hint of a sly smile slither across Mama's face. "It's about time," she said and opened the door to let me inside.
MR. PULMAN AND STEVE
1
Mama met Billy Pulman in the grocery store. That's the story she told me as I sat on the couch during the spring of my sixteenth year and watched the two of
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