#joseph augustine

And yet. There she was, home alone after school, ear to the radio at Joe’s behest. She’d never actually spoken to him before. But today marked one month since Dodie’s passing, and Dodie used to visit with Joe every day. The decision was made for Zeke, really; at lunch her feet moved of their own accord and brought her right in front of Joe’s table. Her mouth moved of its own accord and said, You know Dodie James?

Her mouth said, I don’t want any of that playing card star chart shit but I just need to … know something about her.

Now Zeke worked the dial with two skinny fingers, trying to find answers in so many static-filled ballads and news bulletins. She’d been at it for an hour. You’ll know when you hear It, he’d told her. Her back ached from bending over. Her eyes were leaking without her permission. Zeke didn’t know what she was looking for, but she knew she had fifteen minutes before her mother got off work and demanded an explanation for doing Devil’s Work with the Crosley.

Then the next dial turn had Dodie’s favorite song blasting.

What could Zeke's body do but crumple?

What could Zeke do but sob?