A Different Blue by Amy Harmon Page A

with you until she gets home, all right? Just go on and climb in bed. Your lips are all blue.”
    I leaned down and picked up my snake, holding onto the edge of my t-shirt so it didn't ride up and reveal the bareness beneath. The smooth heft of wood felt good in my hands. Donnie stopped moving.
    “I'm not going to hurt you, Blue. I'm just here to make sure you're okay, okay?”
    I turned and raced to my bed, diving in and pulling the covers up to my chin. I clutched the snake under the covers. I watched Donnie approach. He eased himself down on the edge of my bed. He leaned toward my nightstand and switched off the lamp. I screamed. The lamp immediately came back on.
    “Stop that!” he barked.
    “Leave the light on,” I panted.
    “Okay, okay,” he rushed. “I'm just gonna sit here with you until you fall asleep.”
    I turned onto my side toward the wall, my back to Donnie, squeezing my eyes shut and wrapping myself around the long, twisting snake that was growing warm in my grip. Wood was like that, warm and smooth. Jimmy said it was because wood was once a living thing. I felt a hand in my hair and stiffened, my eyes snapping open.
    “When I was little, my mom used to rub my back sometimes to help me fall asleep.” Donnie's voice was soft. “I could rub your back, like this.” His moved his hand to my shoulder. He carefully moved it in little circles across my upper back. It felt nice. I said nothing, my attention focused on those circles and the hand that traveled back and forth.
    I eventually fell asleep to the gentle ministrations against my back. Donnie had comforted me and soothed me with his touch. And I had so badly needed comfort. When Cheryl came home she awakened both of us. Donnie had fallen asleep in the chair by my bed. Cheryl kicked him out and took his place on the chair, lighting a cigarette in shaking hands.
    “Donnie told me he thinks you tried to kill yourself tonight. Why would you do somethin' like that?”
    I didn't answer. I hadn't wanted to die. Not exactly. I just wanted to see Jimmy again.
    “I want to see my dad again.”
    Cheryl eyed me, her mouth puckered around her cigarette. She seemed to be considering what I had said, weighing it out in her mind. She finally sighed and stubbed her cigarette out on the base of my lamp, scattering ashes over my nightstand.
    “You know he ain't your dad, right? I mean. He was like a dad. But he wasn't your dad.”
    I sat up in my bed and stared at her, hating her, loathing her, wondering why she would be saying such awful things to me, especially today, of all days.
    “Don't look at me like that. I'm not tryin' to hurt you. You just gotta know what's what. Jimmy told me he ate at a truck stop in Reno, a place where he sold some of his carvings. He said you'd been asleep, just a little thing, barely more than a baby, all huddled in a corner booth, waiting for your mother who was playing the slots. He said he didn't know who you belonged to. You remember Jimmy. Wouldn't yell help if his clothes were on fire. He sat there with you, gave you some of his dinner. He said you didn't cry, and you didn't seem afraid of him. He sat with you for quite a while, even whittled a doll for you.” Cheryl lit another cigarette and inhaled deeply. She nodded toward my dresser. “It's that one. The one you have there.”
    I began to shake my head, denying her story, denying her the ability to take him away from me in the way she seemed intent on doing. But she persisted, and I listened helplessly.
    “He said you just watched him, and you gobbled up the french fries he offered. Your mother came back eventually. Jimmy said he was sure she'd be angry that he was sitting there with you. But he said she seemed nervous and kind of jittery and surprised more than anything.
    “The next morning, he found you inside his truck. He said the handle on the passenger side was busted and he couldn't lock it, making it easy for her to get in. The windows had been rolled down a