Speak to the Earth Read Online Free

Ellen’s number and clamped his eyes shut.
    “Hello?”
    “Oh, uh, hi. Um, I was just wondering if you were, you know, serious on the bus today? About studying together?”
    “Who is this?”
    “Oh, damn! I mean, hello, Mrs Thomson. Is Ellen there?”
    “Who’s calling, please?”
    Remembering just in time that Iris had given the Thomsons a verbal beating at the parents’ meeting, Bryan said, “It’s a friend from school.”
    “One moment, please.”
    When Ellen came on the line, Bryan rushed ahead. “Hi, it’s Bryan. I —”
    “Oh, hi. How are you?”
    “Fine. Um, I was wondering —”
    “So, did you think about my suggestion?”
    “Your—”
    “You know. About studying together?”
    Wondering how much studying anyone could get done with someone who wouldn’t let him finish a sentence, Bryan tried again. “Yeah, that’s why I —”
    “How about tomorrow after school?”
    “Sure. Um—”
    “Great. See you then. Gotta go.”
    Bryan returned to his room and looked at himself in the mirror. “You smooth dude,” he said to his image. Then he laughed.

THREE
    L ike a gladiator of ancient times or a medieval knight errant Bryan Troupe prepared himself for battle. His armaments: soaps, creams and lotions; floss, brushes, swabs and his uncle’s safety razor. The field: the tiny bathroom of the Troupe bungalow, pulsing with rock music from a portable radio. His foe: his body, which seemed anxious to betray him at every turn. If his vigil was not constant, white flakes might break loose from his scalp and snow his hair or speckle his shoulders; a booger might peek maliciously from a nostril; malodorous liquid would seep from his armpits; dirt would collect secretly under his fingernails and between his toes. Each morning before school Bryan conducted a desperate rearguard campaign against the temple of his own flesh. Never did he feel completely successful.
    But this evening he was going to Ellen Thomson’s for the first time and he planned to flog his enemy into total submission. In the shower, he turned slowly under a jet of scalding water. With a shampoo-conditioner thatsmelled like apples and peaches and guaranteed an end to dandruff, he washed his hair three times, then shut off the water. He soaped up a rough washcloth and, beginning at his hairline, vigorously punished his skin, pausing to assault his ears, advancing downwards to chafe his armpits, attack his crotch, buttocks, legs, and grind loose skin from the depressions in his feet and between his toes. Under the shower again, the foam slid off his body and swirled down the drain. Bryan repeated the process.
    By the time he pulled back the shower curtain, he was as pink, overheated and squeaky-clean as he had ever been in his life. The steam in the bathroom was so thick he could barely see. With his damp palm he squeegeed a small circle on the mirror and examined his upper lip. Today was the day he would remove from there the few downy blond hairs that made him look like a kid. Besides, if he ever was lucky enough to kiss Ellen, he didn’t want to tickle her.
    Using Jimmy’s shaving brush and mug, Bryan worked up enough lather to shave a camel and applied the thick, creamy soap to his skin. When he was finished, his mouth had disappeared, his nostrils were clogged, and he couldn’t breathe. He sneezed, blowing foam all over the mirror, his chest and the vanity top. He took a deep breath and dragged the razor over his upper lip. In two modest strokes, he was done.
    And there was a gash under his nostril leaking bright arterial blood.
    “Damn!” He ripped a piece of toilet paper from theroll and stuck it to the offending wound. Before the mirror again, Bryan inspected his nostrils and ear holes for foreign particles. Finding none, he plugged in the hair dryer and attempted to bring order to his thick ginger hair. By the time he had given up in disgust, he realized that he was sweating heavily. The temperature in the steamy bathroom must