Wireman
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TEN-YEAR-OLD Nick Ringer walked along the railroad tracks. Sunlight flashed from the worn, glittering metal and brought tears to his eyes. Everything was so bright and dry. The town looked as bleached and pale as Mama’s sheets.
He used a pine branch to sweep a path for his bare feet. Little red stones rolled aside and stickers clung to the sappy needles. Finding an anthill taller than the rail it hugged, Nick stopped and listlessly annihilated the colony until there was nothing left but a small heap of tan dirt.
He might as well go home. There was a chance his brother Daley would play with him now. Being two years younger, Daley liked his comic books more than the lure of aimless wandering, but sometimes when the day cooled he could be talked into improbable adventures.
Nick kicked a tin can, sending it bumping across the dusty street. Daley was dumb. Who needed him?
Passing his neighbor’s house, Nick saw Eileen sitting on the front steps.