![]() It was the hammer of Penny Wilson’s eardrum. When she parted my lips and put her forefinger inside-mothers are the bravest creatures, and mine is the bravest of all-she found something hard between my gums. I don’t remember any of this, but I know it.Įven when my mother noticed the gore down the front of my OshKosh overalls, even when she registered the blood on my face, she didn’t see it. There I was, asleep on the floor beside the bone pile, tears still drying on my cheeks and blood wet around my mouth. ![]() If it had been, they would have snatched me away and done unspeakable things to me. She’d stumbled upon stranger things in suburbia. When I was older she told me she thought my babysitter had been the victim of a satanic cult. I know Mama screamed, because anyone would have. The last time my mother had looked at Penny Wilson she’d still had a face. I had my teeth but I was too small to swallow the bones, so when my mother came home she found them in a pile on the living room carpet. She must have hummed a lullaby, fondled each tiny finger and toe, kissed my cheeks and stroked the down on my head, blowing on my hair like she was making a wish on a dandelion gone to seed. ![]() That’s what I figure, because she was only supposed to watch me for an hour and a half, and obviously she loved me a little too much. Penny Wilson wanted a baby of her own in the worst way. ![]()
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |