Take Me with You
“I wish you could come with me,” Juliette said, a hand moving like God’s, parting her hair like the earth as the rain flooded from the sky into the valleys of Juliette’s head.
“I know,” said Johnny, his eyes shut and breath shallow, “me too.”
“You’ve gotta take care of your sisters, Johnny. And your mama and your brother. I understand why you can’t run with me.” The sun was ready to set. If you squinted your eyes at it, it looked like a big red tomato slowly being squished into the ground by some invisible force.
Juliette turned Johnny’s head to the sun, “Remember when we watched the sun set?” She kissed his cheek. “Be good to your mama, Johnny. She’s sad.”
“I can’t make anything right,” Johnny breathed and shut his eyes again, a tear just barely escaping, “and that’s why I don’t want to be here any longer.”
Juliette took her hand away from his tightened jaw to wrap her arms around his neck, “Maybe instead of just placing a bucket under the leak, you should tear the house down and rebuild it.”