WHAT I DID NEXT…
…was not very manly, but I wasn’t a man; I was six. I sat there in that cage swinging under the bone spider…
…and I cried.
For a while the girl didn’t say anything, just watched. Then she started fidgeting. Finally she threw up her hands.
“You’re as useless as teats on a fish.”
She frowned. “How are you supposed to rescue me sitting there blubbering? You gonna rust us outta this cage with all them tears?”
“I ain’t rescuin’ nobody,” I sniffled. “I want my mama.”
Her face changed.
“Oh.”
She looked through the bars at the forest sliding underneath us. “Well…”
“What? You know where Mama is?”
She chewed her lip.
“I know where everybody’s mama is at.”
I waited.
She looked back at me, almost mad.
“They’re dead, dummy.”
I started bawling all over again.
She sighed so hard I thought she might fall over, scooted across the cage, wrapped one skinny arm around my shoulders, and patted my head like a puppy.
“That’s okay,” she muttered. “Cry for a little while. Then you can rescue me.”
I sniffled. “You stink like a dead skunk’s rotten butthole.”
She sniffed an armpit. “That’s fair.”
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