jeanne holtzman

He didn’t cry when he was born. The doctor said he was perfect. His mother searched for omens. She paced like a lioness, vigilant, all claws and fangs.First there were coughing fits, mysterious rashes. Nothing serious, the doctor intoned. Asthma. Allergies.Then his hands turned white and blue and red, on and off. She checked the cupboard for empty bottles, corks. The blood tests were negative.His legs hurt, all the time. She made a trip to the bank. A crisp new hundred dollar bill. Rolled. Placed into a bottle. Corked. Thrown from a bridge.

Jeanne Holtzman
Collected Stories of Amy Hempel
Amy Hempel