Boys Life

and awful shine in them. “Don’t you know you’re sickly?” she demanded. “Don’t you know your wrists could snap in a hard breeze?”
    “I’m all right, Momma,” Nemo said. His voice was small. Sweat glistened on the back of his neck. “Honetht.”
    “You’d say that until you passed out with heatstroke, wouldn’t you? And then you’d fall down and knock your teeth out and would your good friend’s father pay for the dentist’s bill?” Again, she glared at me. “Doesn’t anybody wear nice shirts in this town? Doesn’t anybody wear nice tailored white shirts?”
    “No, ma’am,” I had to say in all honesty. “I don’t think so.”
    “Well, isn’t that just dandy?” She grinned, but there was no humor in it. Her grin was as hot as the sun and terrible to look upon. “Isn’t that just so very civilized?” She grasped Nemo’s shoulder with one of her yellow-gloved hands. “Get in the house!” she told him. “This minute!” She began to haul him toward the porch, and he looked back at me with an expression of longing and regret.
    I had to ask. I just had to. “Mrs. Curliss? How come you won’t let Nemo play Little League?”
    I thought she was going to go on in without answering. But suddenly she stopped just short of the porch steps and spun around and her eyes were slitted with rage. “What did you say?”
    “I… was askin’… how come you won’t let Nemo play Little League. I mean… he’s got a perfect ar-”
    “My son is fragile, in case you didn’t know! Do you understand what that word means?” She plowed on before I could tell her I did. “It means he’s got weak bones! It means he can’t run and roughhouse like other boys! It means he’s not a savage!”
    “Yes ma’am, but-”
    “Nemo’s not like the rest of you! He’s not a member of your tribe, do you understand that? He’s a cultured boy, and he doesn’t get down and wallow in the dirt like a wild beast!”
    “I… just thought he might like-”
    “Listen, here!” she said, her voice rising. “Don’t you stand on my lawn and tell me what’s right or wrong for my son! You didn’t worry yourself crazy when he was three years old and he almost died of pneumonia! And where was his father? His father was on the road tryin’ to sell enough shirts to keep us from bankruptcy! But we lost that house, that pretty house with the window boxes, we lost that house anyway! And would anybody help us? Would any of those churchgoin’ people help us? Not a one! So we lost that house, where my pretty dog is buried in the backyard!” Her face seemed to shatter for an instant, and behind its brittle mask of anger I caught a glimpse of a heartbreaking fear and sadness. Her grip never left Nemo’s shoulder. Then the mask sealed up again, and Mrs. Curliss sneered. “Oh, I know the kind of boy you are! I’ve seen plenty of you, in every town we’ve lived in! All you want to do is hurt my son, and laugh at him behind his back! You want to see him fall down and scrape his knees, and you want to hear his lisp because you think it’s funny! Well, you can find somebody else to pick on, because my son’s not having anythin’ to do with you!”
    “I don’t want to pick on-”
    “Get in the house!” she shouted at Nemo as she pushed him up the steps.
    “I’ve gotta go!” Nemo called to me, trying desperately to keep his dignity. “I’m thorry!”
    The screen door slammed behind them. The inner door closed, too, with a thunk of finality.
    The birds were singing, stupid in their happiness. I stood on the green grass, my shadow like a long scorch mark. I saw the blinds on the front windows close. There was nothing more to be said, nothing more to be done. I turned around, got on Rocket, and started pedaling for home.
    On that ride to my house, as the summer-scented air hit me in the face and gnats spun in the whirlwinds of my passage, I realized all prisons were not buildings of gray rock bordered by guard towers and barbed wire. Some prisons were houses whose closed blinds let no sunlight enter. Some prisons were cages of fragile bones, and some prisons had bars of red polka dots. In fact, you could never tell what might be a prison until you’d had a glimpse of what was seized and bound inside. I was thinking this over when Rocket suddenly veered to one side, narrowly missing Vernon Thaxter walking on the sidewalk. I figured even Rocket’s golden eye had blinked at the sight of Vernon strolling in the