She didn’t mean ta do it, I know she didn’t. She ain’t that kinda lady. I said ta nobody in particular because ain’t nobody there noways. Just me, watchin’ Mrs. Pauley’s house. The sheriff were there with his red light flashing, the landlord were there in in his black shiny Humvee, and the police chief were there with his red light flashin’ too. The ambulance had already left leavin’ rubber on the road.
She was backin’ outta her driveway, and I was playin’ in the street with the ball. She ain’t seen me and hit me, but it’s okay. My leg hurts and all, but it’s okay. I still like Mrs. Pauley. She didn’t mean ta do it.
They told me that she hadn’t paid her rent ever since Mr. Pauley left this here earth for the ever-lasting. He were a nice man. I think that might be about 3 or 4 months now, but I ain’t fer sure. That landlord, Mr. Cruddo is demandin’ her ta pay up or get out. And that ain’t right. Mr. and Mrs. Pauley has lived there long long before I were ever born. No, it ain’t right just because Mr. Pauley died. I wish I could help her. I wish I could get all da neighbors ta chip in so she won’t have ta leave. I wish there were somethin’ I could do.
My brain just started spinnin’ and whirlin’ and it got me ta thinkin’. Hmmm, what about them six boys of hers? Why ain’t they helpin’ her? I ain’t seen them boys since I was nine years old! I don’t even know how ta getta holda them.
My leg’s hurtin’ somethin’ awful and I knows its bruised, but I kick the stones on the sidewalk anyways while my brain gears are turnin’ like the one’s on my red, Big Buck bicycle. Man I love that bike! No tellin’ when I’ll get ta ride it again now. But this ain’t about me, it’s about Mrs. Pauley. Dear sweet Mrs. Pauley. If she leaves…well I can’t bare to think about it. She’s always been so kind to me and always give me her fresh baked cookies. I know it broke her heart when she hit me. That musta been what upset Mr. Cruddo, the sheriff and the policeman. They just takin’ out their anger on poor Mrs. Pauley.
I gots ta think bout what I can do ta help her. I gots ta do somethin’.
Lord? You up there? You hearin’ me Lord? I heard you sometimes answer prayers, please, please help Mrs. Pauley not get kicked outta her home. Will ya do that please Lord? I be so grateful and I know she’ll be too. If I can I’ll start goin’ back ta Sunday school if ya do that for Mrs. Pauley, Lord. And.. and.. I’ll say my prayers ever single night. And.. I’ll be nice ta my bratty sister. Well…kinda nice anyways. I’m feelin’ kinda light so I’m thinkin’ that you’s hearin’ me Lord. Thank you Lord! Thank you. I promise, I promise… I’ll be good!
Thank you, thank you! They’s leavin’ her house now and she ain’t with them. Thank you Lord! I knows I’ll see you Sunday!
I can hear my momma’s voice and she’s cryin’. Why she cryin’?
I hear this beep…beep…beep… And I cain’t figure out that weird noise.
“You can turn off the machine.” she whispers through her sobs.
“My baby, my baby.” My momma’s cryin’.
Why’s she cryin’?
“Who she talkin’ about?” Why?