Read Online Until I Find Julian by Patricia Reilly Giff - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Patricia Reilly Giff
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hits the litter basket, falls back, and lands on the ground. If it hadn’t been for Sal’s food, I would have gone after it, eaten that crust and been glad to have it.
But one of the other women takes pity on me. “I think this way.” She points to the road, to the way I’ve come.
“Do you remember anything else?” Any tiny piece of information, almost like one of the chunks of chicken in Mami’s soup, will make a difference.
But the factory whistle blasts again. The women stand. They have to go back to work.
Next to me, a woman puts her hand on my shoulder. “I think he said he owes someone.”
I hear the slap of my sneakers—
He owed someone.
And why do I keep thinking of the miserable woman with the broom?
The sound of my breath—
What kind of trouble is he in?
Ahead are the green trees, bending toward me on both sides of the road.
I run off the road, onto a much softer bed of sand and needles; I breathe in the sharp smell of the pines and slow down.
Julian would love this spot. At home, Mami will be sewing at the kitchen table, worrying about him, worrying about money…
Worrying about me.
I touch Abuelita’s medal.
The wind whispers to the branches with a sound like breaking glass. I veer toward a small path, putting one foot in front of the other.
Something moves.
I stand entirely still.
It’s a deer, her color almost orange under the trees, her tail white, her ears high. She reaches up to pull a branch closer to her so she can nibble at the leaves.
For just that moment, all the worry melts out of me. How lucky I am to see her, to be here in this hidden world, to write about it someday.
I hear something and move behind the nearest tree, a tall one with zigzag branches. A twig gently scratches my cheek, and I reach up to touch it.
There’s silence.
I wait for what seems forever; then I raise my head slowly, my hands grasping the trunk.
The deer is still there, no longer feeding. Her head is up, her ears twitching, her great dark eyes staring. She’s heard what I heard.
There’s a screech. I jump, almost darting away, then stare up into the tree. A large bird perches near the top, its yellow talons wrapped around a branch; its eyes are hooded, angry-looking. A hawk, I think. It blinks slowly; then it glides away and the deer jumps effortlessly over a fallen branch.
Both are gone and I’m alone.
But not quite.
I hear footsteps now, scratchy against the pine needles, so I stay where I am. A woman comes down the narrow path. Her streaked hair is swept up in back with a comb, and she’s wearing boots.
She moves forward away from me, dropping fistfuls of seeds as she walks. The seeds are black, striped; I know what they are: tall yellow sunflowers grow from those seeds.
I follow the woman.
Why do I do things like this? It will surely get me caught.
Still, I raise one foot and then the other as I walk, so the swish of the sand and the pine needles is quiet.
The woman takes a long time going down that winding path, the pine bending over us. She stops, the seeds spilling through her fingers.
Something hisses.
I stand on tiptoes to see a gray striped cat, its back arched. It’s much larger than the stray at home. It must be a bobcat.
The woman waits as the bobcat disappears up a narrow path, thick with fallen needles, and she follows slowly, giving it room.
I go after her, watching as she tosses more seeds; then I take another path, narrower still, veering away from her to be sure she doesn’t turn and spot me.
I circle around a few straggly bushes, arms out to feel the branches, and then jump over a silvery rock.
I picture Julian here. I remember once walking along the creek together. I took big steps, trying to keep up with him, and he pointed to a silver fish swimming along, its tail flipping out of the water.
Julian and I smiled at each other, picturing it safe from our fishing poles.
Be safe, Julian.
Just beyond me is a pile of gray rocks, and a narrow opening.
A
But one of the other women takes pity on me. “I think this way.” She points to the road, to the way I’ve come.
“Do you remember anything else?” Any tiny piece of information, almost like one of the chunks of chicken in Mami’s soup, will make a difference.
But the factory whistle blasts again. The women stand. They have to go back to work.
Next to me, a woman puts her hand on my shoulder. “I think he said he owes someone.”
I hear the slap of my sneakers—
He owed someone.
And why do I keep thinking of the miserable woman with the broom?
The sound of my breath—
What kind of trouble is he in?
Ahead are the green trees, bending toward me on both sides of the road.
I run off the road, onto a much softer bed of sand and needles; I breathe in the sharp smell of the pines and slow down.
Julian would love this spot. At home, Mami will be sewing at the kitchen table, worrying about him, worrying about money…
Worrying about me.
I touch Abuelita’s medal.
The wind whispers to the branches with a sound like breaking glass. I veer toward a small path, putting one foot in front of the other.
Something moves.
I stand entirely still.
It’s a deer, her color almost orange under the trees, her tail white, her ears high. She reaches up to pull a branch closer to her so she can nibble at the leaves.
For just that moment, all the worry melts out of me. How lucky I am to see her, to be here in this hidden world, to write about it someday.
I hear something and move behind the nearest tree, a tall one with zigzag branches. A twig gently scratches my cheek, and I reach up to touch it.
There’s silence.
I wait for what seems forever; then I raise my head slowly, my hands grasping the trunk.
The deer is still there, no longer feeding. Her head is up, her ears twitching, her great dark eyes staring. She’s heard what I heard.
There’s a screech. I jump, almost darting away, then stare up into the tree. A large bird perches near the top, its yellow talons wrapped around a branch; its eyes are hooded, angry-looking. A hawk, I think. It blinks slowly; then it glides away and the deer jumps effortlessly over a fallen branch.
Both are gone and I’m alone.
But not quite.
I hear footsteps now, scratchy against the pine needles, so I stay where I am. A woman comes down the narrow path. Her streaked hair is swept up in back with a comb, and she’s wearing boots.
She moves forward away from me, dropping fistfuls of seeds as she walks. The seeds are black, striped; I know what they are: tall yellow sunflowers grow from those seeds.
I follow the woman.
Why do I do things like this? It will surely get me caught.
Still, I raise one foot and then the other as I walk, so the swish of the sand and the pine needles is quiet.
The woman takes a long time going down that winding path, the pine bending over us. She stops, the seeds spilling through her fingers.
Something hisses.
I stand on tiptoes to see a gray striped cat, its back arched. It’s much larger than the stray at home. It must be a bobcat.
The woman waits as the bobcat disappears up a narrow path, thick with fallen needles, and she follows slowly, giving it room.
I go after her, watching as she tosses more seeds; then I take another path, narrower still, veering away from her to be sure she doesn’t turn and spot me.
I circle around a few straggly bushes, arms out to feel the branches, and then jump over a silvery rock.
I picture Julian here. I remember once walking along the creek together. I took big steps, trying to keep up with him, and he pointed to a silver fish swimming along, its tail flipping out of the water.
Julian and I smiled at each other, picturing it safe from our fishing poles.
Be safe, Julian.
Just beyond me is a pile of gray rocks, and a narrow opening.
A
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