Bridge to Terabithia

He put his mind to remembering the day in Washington, working on details of pictures and statues, dredging up the sound of Miss Edmunds’ voice, recalling his own exact words and her exact answers. Occasionally into the corner of his mind’s vision would come a sensation of falling, but he pushed it away with the view of another picture or the sound of another conversation. Tomorrow he must share it all with Leslie.

The next thing he was aware of was the sun streaming through the window. The little girls’ bed was only rumpled covers, and there was movement and quiet talking from the kitchen.

Lord! Poor Miss Bessie. He’d forgotten all about her last night, and now it must be late. He felt for his sneakers and shoved his feet over the heels without tying the laces.

His mother looked up quickly from the stove at the sound of him. Her face was set for a question, but she just nodded her head at him.

The coldness began to come back. “I forgot Miss Bessie.”

“Your daddy’s milking her.”

“I forgot last night, too.”

She kept nodding her head. “Your daddy did it for you.” But it wasn’t an accusation. “You feel like some breakfast?”

Maybe that was why his stomach felt so odd. He hadn’t had anything to eat since the ice cream Miss Edmunds had bought them at Millsburg on the way home. Brenda and Ellie stared up at him from the table. The little girls turned from their cartoon show at the TV to look at him and then turned quickly back.

He sat down on the bench. His mother put a plateful of pancakes in front of him. He couldn’t remember the last time she had made pancakes. He doused them with syrup and began to eat. They tasted marvelous.

“You don’t even care. Do you?” Brenda was watching him from across the table.

He looked at her puzzled, his mouth full.

“If Jimmy Dicks died, I wouldn’t be able to eat a bite.”

The coldness curled up inside of him and flopped over.

“Will you shut your mouth, Brenda Aarons?” His mother sprang forward, the pancake turner held threateningly high.

“Well, Momma, he’s just sitting there eating pancakes like nothing happened. I’d be crying my eyes out.”

Ellie was looking first at Mrs. Aarons and then at Brenda. “Boys ain’t supposed to cry at times like this. Are they, Momma?”

“Well, it don’t seem right for him to be sitting there eating like a brood sow.”

“I’m telling you, Brenda, if you don’t shut your mouth….”

He could hear them talking but they were farther away than the memory of the dream. He ate and he chewed and he swallowed, and when his mother put three more pancakes on his plate, he ate them, too.

His father came in with the milk. He poured it carefully into the empty cider jugs and put them into the refrigerator. Then he washed his hands at the sink and came to the table. As he passed Jess, he put his hand lightly on the boy’s shoulder. He wasn’t angry about the milking.

Jess was only dimly aware that his parents were looking at each other and then at him. Mrs. Aarons gave Brenda a hard look and gave Mr. Aarons a look which was to say that Brenda was to be kept quiet, but Jess was only thinking of how good the pancakes had been and hoping his mother would put down some more in front of him. He knew somehow that he shouldn’t ask for more, but he was disappointed that she didn’t give him any. He thought, then, that he should get up and leave the table, but he wasn’t sure where he was supposed to go or what he was supposed to do.

“Your mother and I thought we ought to go down to the neighbors and pay respects.” His father cleared his throat. “I think it would be fitting for you to come, too.” He stopped again. “Seeing’s you was the one that really knowed the little girl.”

Jess tried to understand what his father was saying to him, but he felt stupid. “What little girl?” He mumbled it, knowing it was the wrong thing to ask. Ellie and Brenda both gasped.

His father leaned down the table and put his big hand on top of Jess’s hand. He gave his wife a quick, troubled look. But she just stood there, her eyes full of pain, saying nothing.

“Your friend Leslie is dead, Jesse. You need to understand that.”

Jess slid his hand out from under his father’s. He got up from the table.

“I know it ain’t a easy thing—” Jess could hear his father speaking as he went into the bedroom. He came back out with his windbreaker on.

“You ready to go now?” His father got up quickly. His mother took off her apron and patted her hair.

May Belle jumped up from the rug. “I wanta go, too,” she said. “I never seen a dead person before.”

“No!” May Belle sat down again as though slapped down by her mother’s voice.

“We don’t even know where she’s laid out at, May Belle,” Mr. Aarons said more gently.

TWELVEStranded

They walked slowly across the field and down the hill to the old Perkins place. There were four or five cars parked outside. His father raised the knocker. Jess could hear P.T. barking from the back of the house and rushing to the door.