Red Earth Review #1

at him as if hypnotized and unable to look away, as if there had been a car accident on him, him an oddity even by bus standards, his mannerisms awkward, his proportions all wrong, and his face, the parts visible underneath so much straight, falling hair, was flaming red with pimples. And then there was the mystery of his race. Mexican? Asian? People always tended to look too long and it made him sick that they did. Stop looking at me! He wanted to scream, but didn’t. Instead, he quickly threw himself into the first seat he found, the one across from the driver, using it the way a soldier would use a fox hole, and then the boy’s entire body clenched into a fist when he looked up to see a gigantic, circular mirror, and his reflection, staring back at him.

His face snapped towards the right as if he had been struck from the left. Inconspicuously as he could, he raised himself off the seat an inch or so and scooted away from the aisle, to the window seat, his shoulder pushing hard against the bus frame, to where the mirror could not find him anymore. He rested his cheek there, tight against the window, and exhaled deeply, his breath fogging the area for a moment. The sun was still just a few fingers above the horizon and it was looking right at him.

Nicky heard the subtle laughter behind him. I have dog hearing I think. I hear everything. Maybe because I am so quiet, I can hear everything. He instinctively knew it was for him. It was a soundtrack that followed him wherever he went, announcing his presence. It was okay. It had worn a dead spot on him and he did not feel it anymore. The only time it bothered him was when he was with his mother and she looked as if she were ready to cry.

It seemed to take forever for them to start moving but when they did, after the bus had stopped making a dizzying array of left turns and began accelerating straight and towards highway speed, Nicky felt better that the sun wound up on the other side of the bus. The sun, to Nicky, was almost as bad as school, him preferring darkness, and longing for the cold of winter which allowed him to wear scarfs and wool hats and big coats with high collars. The days were short in winter too, the sun weak and often shrouded behind clouds and fog and other gray things. Not like summer. Better than summer. The colder the better. The darker the better.

They were just about half way when it became obvious to Nicky that the sun was switching sides, that it had been maneuvering all afternoon, and, to his dismay, was then dropping 83