Monday, May 18, 2009

The childhood at the top of the stairs

My hand is small and sore as it digs into the newel post. They are on the first floor and she is following him, doing something he calls hocking. I'm not sure what hocking is, but I do know that when his voice changes, turns into that up pitch, there is no going back.

My brother is long hidden. I am telepathic, a first-grader with a purpose. Don't. Leave him alone. Please.

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