Short story
A Home for Rodney
by David Harlen Brooks
Time is ticking for a boy in social services. He can let go of his fears and find a loving family or shuffle in and out of households.
Sneak Peek
Git on with it, I wanted to shout at Luanne’s uneven clackin’ on the typewriter. The tap tap katap reminded me of false starts, and I’d had enough of those in this room. Sweat rolled down my face, but the heat wasn’t what had me hot and bothered. The clock read 9:32 a.m. I cracked my knuckles and leaned on the edge of Luanne’s table, vibrating from her typin’. I wondered what vibes I’d pick up from the people comin’ to look at me.
“Did you tell ‘em?”
Luanne stopped. “Tell them what?”
“I’ve been in and out of six places!”
“Now, why on earth would I tell them that?” Her voice stuck in a high pitch.
“So no one’s time gits a wasted.”
“You sure find your way into enough trouble.”
I shrugged my shoulders.
She grabbed a bottle of that white stuff. “And why is that?” She unscrewed it, dabbed the brush over some words, and blew on it.
I sat back and swung my legs. My fingers found a hole in the vinyl seat cover and dug past the sharp edge into soft stuffing, poking around. If only I could make myself small and hide inside.
Eldon, another case worker, stood. “Like a Coke, Rodney?” Eldon’s voice always rumbled my ears.
“You buyin’?”
“No, but the State of Illinois is.”
“I’ll take one then.”
The floor groaned as his steps faded and came back again. “Here you go.”
“Thanks, man.”
I aimed to sip it slow and let the bubbles fizzle on my tongue. But once I pressed the dull glass edge against my lips and took a swig of syrup, I lost control and made gulping noises as it burned its way down my throat.
“Don’t swallow the bottle, too!” Luanne honked like a goose and started off typin’ again.
A phone jangled on Eldon’s desk. His fingers drummed the table like a gallopin’ horse. He said, “Yea… yea… yea.” the way I did when Luanne asked too many questions.
I looked at the clock again. 9:43 a.m.
Eldon’s arms had swept me into his beanbag stomach when I tried to escape the first time they brought me here after my mama died.
I took another gulp of sugar water and belched like rolling thunder. Luanne looked at me over her glasses.
I leaned toward Luanne. “Excuse me. Yes, Maam. Thank you, sir. May I be excused? I’ve got them all memorized.”
“Good!”
A breeze brushed my face. It felt nice and gentle and reminded me of Luanne’s puffy hands strokin’ my check when I got scared and cried the first time they tried givin’ me away.
.
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