I Want to Know Why

 

We got up at four in the morning with the winter (like the spring). He is always doing little favors about things. It just makes your mouth water to hear him.

 

When there is all the talk on the streets in the evenings about the new spring, you breathe, you think about it, always going over it. I can’t help it.

 

Well, I must tell you about what we did and let you in on what I’m talking about.  Four of us made up our minds; we were going to talk about this scheme.  I admit that, and I talked the others into trying it.  There was thirty seven dollars I had earned; the others had only a dollar or two each.  I won't tell you the trouble we had: souvenirs, shells, sisters, but we had the night and went to a place to sleep.  They won't squeal on you.  Often you give a quarter or half dollar or something and then you can trust them.  I don't know why.  There were a lot; there was a whole lot. 

 

He is home; he doesn’t stay there much but goes away to the cities.  He is a nice man.  He's all right, and anyway, he said to me that money, such things are what they are talking about, but I don't see what it's got to do with what this story is about.  I'm puzzled, I guess.  I'm trying to think straight and I can't help it.  I've always been that way.  Well, then I made up my mind I would like to be of no use to him.  If you've never been around, there isn't anything so honest and loose.  It brings a lump into my throat just remembering it.  I don't mean every time; it's like blood or something.  If I wanted to, that's what I would do, but I don't.  That you don't see very often. 

 

Everything smells better than coffee.  It just gets you, that's what it does. 

 

But about what we wanted, that's what I'm writing about.  Here it is.  I always am wanting the risk of being seen.  I went to sleep the night before.  What had happened was that a little from home he goes at half-past something; then he begins to run and get there, nervous like a lovely girl.  There isn't anything letting on, but he is just like his name.  It makes you ache to see him.  It hurts you.  He just lays down.  This was a fact.  It was his day and I knew when I saw him; I forgot all about being myself.  He saw me and something happened.  I'll tell you about that. 

 

I was standing, looking at, in some way, I can't tell how, I just was quiet, just thinking.  I could just in a way see right inside him.  He wasn't letting on much but just waiting.  I knew it seemed to me there wasn't anything.  He was the quietest.  I knew what would happen.  I was sure. 

 

A funny thing had happened to me that afternoon.  That afternoon I had seen, stood, started.  It was the first time I ever felt like that.  Here's what happened.  I had seen other men go that way and I didn't expect it was that direction; pretty soon I went lonesome, like wanting to see your father right then and there.  I didn't know what it was; I looked through a window and saw.  I can't make it out.  She had red hair.  I saw everything plain.  I looked at what was going on inside, then all of a sudden, I wanted to rush in the room.  I cried: shining, waved back and forth, and didn't sleep and never told them anything I had seen.  I can't make it out.  Who knows what the woman was like that day.  I keep thinking about it and I want to know why.

Reviews

[Melanie Jane Boicourt S..]

I am confused. Maybe I am just sleepy or maybe it is supposed to be confusing but this story totally confused me. It contradicted itself in some places and repeated phrases where it didn't seem appropriate. I don't like giving bad reviews and maybe you just haven't edited it yet. It almost sounds like English isn't your 1st language and you didn't know how to put your words together.
I am so sorry but I had to be honest. If I missed the point then please let me know.
Love All, Mejasha