I got under my blanket and pillow

and prayed myself

back to sleep.

41.

Dreams.

Don’t I

buy you clothes?

Don’t I

get you pretty things?

Don’t I

take good care of you?

You hush now.

Hush up.

Stop that

crying.

Shhh.

Shhh.

Quiet.

42.

I’m sitting on the front porch,

thinking how I miss Liz,

watching the torn screen

flap in the wind,

when Mari comes

riding down the driveway

on her bike.

Let’s go, she says.

You and me. We’re

headed to the river.

I see

Mari carries a picnic

basket and a plastic

bag full of stuff.

Her purple hair seems

to soak up

the sun.

For a moment, I

sit quiet

wondering if I should

go anywhere fun

with Lizzie waiting in a hospital.

Then Mari says,

You don’t have a choice.

Get up, Hope. You

are coming with me,

like it or not.

Okay, I say,

’cause I am too

tired to argue

with her.

It’s a long trip.

A hot trip.

Two miles away.

Down back roads.

Past an orange grove,

past a drug store

and a 7-Eleven.

Every once in a while

I can smell

the ocean

in the air

even though we are

headed in the

opposite direction.

But I know

when me and Mari get

there

that river will be so pretty,

with its white banks

and trees that scratch at the

water.

What’s in the basket?

I ask her, pumping along.

It’s a surprise,

Mari says, pedaling close,

balancing the big picnic basket

on the bar of her bike.

She never hunches

over the way

I would if her bike was

mine.

She drives in the

sitting-straight-up

position,

balancing.

Mom let me

pick out everything

from the store,

Mari says, looking at me.

She feels guilty ’cause

I had to babysit

Mattie all night

while she and Dad

were “out of town.”

She makes her

fingers quotes.

Mattie is four years old

and stick skinny

except for a little

pot belly.

My momma never feels guilty,

I say to my best friend, telling

the truth.

This bike

I ride proves it.

Rickety

old thing

held together by bits

of paint and

leftover ribbons

that Liz and

I tied all over it.

The decorations are from

Before

when me and Lizzie

pretended we were in a

parade.

I start to say,

Can’t be away

from

home

too long.

I start to say,

I promised Liz I’d be back

soon.

But Liz,

I remember,

is not there.

43.

Down

to the river me and

Mari

go, pedaling hard.

I try not to think.

(Lizzie!)

Try not to remember.

(All those baby kittens!)

Try to keep going.

The air is thick and hot,

storm-ready.

I watch as clouds

boil up

in the sky.

Things darken

in the east

where, if we headed that way,

we would run into the

ocean.

What’s in the bag?

I say.

Mari grins at me.

Pads.

Pads?

What kinda pads?

For writing?

Has she

brought something

to help me