Над пропастью во ржи

           FinallyIsatdownonthisbench,whereitwasn’tsogoddamdark.Boy,Iwasstillshiveringlikeabastard,andthebackofmyhair,eventhoughIhadmyhuntinghaton,wassortoffulloflittlehunksofice.Thatworriedme.IthoughtprobablyI’dgetpneumoniaanddie.Istartedpicturingmillionsofjerkscomingtomyfuneralandall.MygrandfatherfromDetroit,thatkeepscallingoutthenumbersofthestreetswhenyourideonagoddambuswithhim,andmyaunts—Ihaveaboutfiftyaunts—andallmylousycousins.Whatamob’dbethere.TheyallcamewhenAlliedied,thewholegoddamstupidbunchofthem.Ihavethisonestupidauntwithhalitosisthatkeptsayinghowpeacefulhelookedlyingthere,D.B.toldme.Iwasn’tthere.Iwasstillinthehospital.IhadtogotothehospitalandallafterIhurtmyhand.Anyway,IkeptworryingthatIwasgettingpneumonia,withallthosehunksoficeinmyhair,andthatIwasgoingtodie.Ifeltsorryashellformymotherandfather.Especiallymymother,becauseshestillisn’tovermybrotherAllieyet.Ikeptpicturinghernotknowingwhattodowithallmysuitsandathleticequipmentandall.Theonlygoodthing,Iknewshewouldn’tletoldPhoebecometomygoddamfuneralbecauseshewasonlyalittlekid.Thatwastheonlygoodpart.ThenIthoughtaboutthewholebunchofthemstickingmeinagoddamcemeteryandall,withmynameonthistombstoneandall.Surroundedbydeadguys.Boy,whenyou’redead,theyreallyfixyouup.IhopetohellwhenIdodiesomebodyhassenseenoughtojustdumpmeintheriverorsomething.Anythingexceptstickingmeinagoddamcemetery.PeoplecomingandputtingabunchofflowersonyourstomachonSunday,andallthatcrap.Whowantsflowerswhenyou’redead?Nobody.

           Whentheweather’snice,myparentsgooutquitefrequentlyandstickabunchofflowersonoldAllie’sgrave.Iwentwiththemacoupleoftimes,butIcutitout.