Love is Always Write Anthology Volume 8

vindication.
    Peter sighed. There was nothing to be done about the hideous bump, or at least nothing that wouldn't make him look even more diseased, so he splashed his face with a little cold water and cautiously patted it dry. He'd ask his mother about ways and means to keep his face clear of angry eruptions tonight when she got home from work. For now— Peter twisted his arm to make his new watch face easier to read— crap, for now he had to hurry. He only had fifteen minutes before his bus would be out in front of their apartment complex, and his folks would skin him quicker than a hunting dog could tree a 'coon if he missed the bus. He dropped the washcloth into the sink with a wet splat, snagging his backpack and jacket on the way past his bedroom. Peter shivered at the thought of having his very own room. The little space, barely big enough to house his twin bed, desk and little bookshelf was something fine still. Finer than hairs on a frog's legs.
    Just three months ago he'd still been sharing one with his cousins Tater and Rufus in the attic of his grandparent's house. The boys got moved there because when Uncle Billy and Auntie Caroline had the triplets there just warn't room for all the boys to stay in the cabin anymore, not without sharing with alla Peter's girl cousins. It mighta been okay for Rufus and Tater to sleep in with Baby Cee and Missy, but there was no way Auntie Caroline was gonna let Peter sleep in the same room with his near grown, twice removed, female cousins. So him and the boys all got bundled up the hill to Gram and Gramps place, and that doubled their chores and straight snatched away every bit of their spare time.
    His Gram and Gramps were the strictest, and most old-fashioned folks he knew. They had hearts made of solid gold, hands made of old hickory, and minds papered with pages from the Old Testament of the King James Bible. Peter heard his folks talking low some nights, when they thought he was asleep, about how glad they were to have him somewhere people weren't so narrow-minded, and where they could get decent jobs to be able to afford to send him to college.
    If they'd stayed back home, Gram and Gramps would never have allowed him to take what they saw as 'charity' to pay his way through college. There were even good schools much closer to home. He just would never have been able to afford to go without grants, loans and more money than his folks could make back there. And Gram and Gramps would have forbidden the grants and loans out of hand, quoting scripture about neither borrowing nor lending… Peter pursed his lips. Even old Reverend Mitchell said that kind of stuff in the bible, the stuff from the Old Testament didn't weigh as heavy as the New Testament teachings about love. The night Ma and Pa had left to move out to California, Gramps had been so angry he just sat on the porch for hours drinking Jim Beam out of a hip flask and smoking pipe after pipe full of tobacco.
    Gram had cried and read her bible.
    Peter shook his head at the memory as he stopped next to the front door to cram his size twelve feet into his almost brand-new tennis shoes. The sneakers still pinched his toes after a whole six weeks of wearing 'em. He took the key his mom had given him so proudly the night before from the hook by the door, stepped out and carefully locked the small two- bedroom apartment's front door. Clutching the key hard enough to leave marks in his palm, Peter sprinted down the concrete stairs to ground level. He arrived at the bus stop just as the big yellow-orange school bus heaved into view. He stood, panting a little from his run, and waited his turn to climb into the maw of the big orange monster.
    Whoo-wee, Tater and Rufus would be right jealous if'n they could see him now. They'd neither one of them ever got to ride on a real live school bus, being as Gram and Gramps's cabin was still close enough to the school house for them to walk. Plus and besides, this real live bus was even co-ed. Peter had learned that there fancy word this summer from one of the Simpson girls who lived in his complex. Sure enough, when his eyesight adjusted to the much dimmer interior of the bus, there was Lisabeth Simpson twirling her fiery hair around one finger and jiggling her shiny silver earring with the tip of another while sitting with her sister Mitzy. He sidled down the aisle and took a seat behind the two red-heads.
    "Howdy Lisabeth, Mitzy. How y'all doin' this morning?" Peter leaned his