Some bullies in flannel threaten to kill a kid whose locker is next to mine. It’ll be vacant soon, I suppose, and I’ll tell everyone that I’m a widow and wear a veil over my face. The clarinet I abandoned long ago will end up in a pawn shop and in someone else’s mouth.
I think it was sometime between 1890 and 1990. My mind is not what it used to be. Sheila had the bone marrow cancer and her cheekbones were shaded like some malicious artist had darkened them with graphite.