Big Picture: Stories Read Online Free Page B

coldness as an absence of heat.
    “I’m sorry,” Michael said. “I’m so sorry.” He was hugging her tightly, speaking into her hair.
    Gail pulled away from him and sat on the chair. “Are you okay?”
    Michael walked to the window and looked out at the lights in the parking lot. “Yes, I’m okay.”
    “I’m scared,” she said.
    “I know. I wish I could take it away.”
    “I guess time will do that,” she said, bravely, lying, not looking at him but at the bed. “You know, I really hate your head. I hate knowing it gives you pain and then I hate you sometimes.”
    “It surprises you that I understand what you just said?”
    “You understand everything,” she said. “You’re too damn understanding.”
    Michael tried to be silent without giving the impression that he was withdrawing. He noted how his imprisonment was allowing him a certain perceptive distance, a mechanical or clinical eye that he found uncontaminated by his own wants and insecurities. Still, he was troubled by his indifference.
    “I do love you,” he said.
    “Everything seemed to be going so well,” Gail said, rubbing one eye.
    “It was.”
    “Then what happened?” She looked directly at him for the first time and he found that a relief. “Tell me what happened, Michael?”
    Michael sat on the bed, leaned forward, his hands clasped in his lap. “I don’t know.”
    “Will it happen again?”
    “No.”
    “How do you know?”
    “I know,” he said.
    “You can’t know. You didn’t know this was coming, did you? Did you?” The anger was finding its way into her voice. She stroked her hair and pulled it behind her ear. “Will you talk to the doctors?”
    “I’ve already talked to them.”
    Gail stood and Michael stayed seated. “They say you’re coming home.”
    Michael nodded. “I want to come home.”
    “You conned them just like you conned me. Just like you con me every day. They like you, Michael. They think you’re smart and funny and …” She stopped and bit her lower lip. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Turned Out
    Lawrence Miller didn’t balk at the draw. Balking wasn’t going to do much good. He heard the muffled comments and the sighs, but he ignored them. Kemp Hollis pushed his chin away from his body and spat tobacco juice into the dust.
    “That’s a filthy habit,” Lawrence said and leaned back against the booth of the concession stand.
    “Ain’t a habit.”
    Lawrence looked at him.
    “A habit is something you have to do,” Kemp said. “Chewing tobacco is something I want and choose to do.”
    “All day long, every day?”
    “Damn near.”
    Lawrence thought again about the bull. “It’ll be a short son-of-a-bitchin’ ride at least.” He smiled briefly. “Strike you funny that I’m the only black man here and I draw the monster?”
    Kemp shrugged. “Somebody had to pull him.”
    Lawrence put a cigarette between his lips and stuck the pack of Old Golds back into his shirt pocket. He struck a match and held it in his cupped hand the way his uncle, who had been in the navy, taught him. “Ground’s hard as hell today.”
    “Dry.” Kemp looked at Lawrence. “That ever get you down? I mean, being the only black person somewhere? I never been the only white person, except when I was alone.” Kemp laughed.
    Lawrence shook his head, smiling.
    Both nodded hello to a couple of passing men.
    Kemp leaned out beyond the wall, watched the men walk out of earshot, and shook his head. “It’s not going to be the same without Phillips and his kid in the team roping. They didn’t ever win, but they was fun to watch.”
    “That’s true enough.”
    “Phillips took it hard.”
    “Yeah, that was pretty tough.”
    “Fool kid,” Kemp said and kicked the heel of his boot against the wall. He did it again. And again.
    Lawrence watched the paint chips settle to the parched ground with each strike of the man’s foot. “You keep that up and she’s going to come out here and kick your ass.”
    Kemp