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The earth beneath my f-f-feet is quakin’.
“Yeah—no, wait!” X-Ray said into the phone. “Just wait a sec—”
He scowled as he returned his phone to his belt. “Sixth,” he griped. “Can you believe it? Sixth! Fifth caller gets two free tickets. Man, I hate this phone. The speed dial is too slow. How you supposed to compete with those rich white kids who have newer phones?”
“Too bad,” said Armpit.
“That woulda been at least another four hundred for us,” X-Ray said.
“For us?”
“Sure man, we’re partners now, right?”
Armpit considered this question seriously. If he gave the money to X-Ray, at least he’d still have two hundred and fifty-seven dollars left.
“Right?” X-Ray asked again.
Red Alert!
My head is filled with a s-s-siren sound!
Red Alert!
All systems are shutting d-d-d-d-down!
“Yeah, we’re partners,” Armpit agreed.
X-Ray patted him on the shoulder. “You won’t regret it.”
He already did.
3
Interstate 35 goes from the Mexican border all the way up to Lake Superior, and some of the heaviest traffic is along the two-hundred-fifty-mile stretch between San Antonio and Dallas. The steady flow of cars and trucks divides the city of Austin in half, not just geographically, but also economically, and to some extent, racially.
Armpit’s home was in east Austin. The house was a duplex, with two identical front doors that faced each other across a wide front porch, 141A and 141B. Armpit’s family lived in 141B. It was just him and his parents. He had an older sister who was married and lived in Houston, and an older brother serving eight to ten at Huntsville.
A white woman and her ten-year-old daughter, Ginny McDonald, occupied the other half of the house.
“S-s-six hun-did d-dollahs?” said Ginny. She was small for her age, with skinny arms and legs. She wore glasses that were so thick it was a wonder they could stay up on her tiny button nose.
“Hundred,” said Armpit.
Ginny concentrated. “Hun-dred,” she said. “That’s a lot of m-money.”
“Tell me about it,” said Armpit.
They were walking around the block. Ginny’s left hand kept holding on to, then letting go of Armpit. Her right arm was bent at the elbow, and rigidly upright, although she wasn’t aware of it.
“Relax your arm,” Armpit reminded her.
Ginny glanced at her arm as if it was a separate being from herself. It took a moment for her brain to send the proper signals, and then her arm lowered.
She reminded Armpit of a marionette who was also her own puppeteer. She had to figure out which string to pull to make her arms and legs move properly.
She had been born with cerebral palsy. A few neighborhood kids called her spaz, and retard, but most treated her with respect because she was a friend of Armpit’s, and because she was willing to answer their questions.
“What’s wrong with you?” someone might ask.
