“Cheedle is under the swing set with his typewriter. He’s sitting on newspapers and wearing a red football helmet. The helmet makes his head look huge. Hey, I say. He says, Hey. What are you doing out here? Ma’s talking to someone in the kitchen. Who is it? I ask. Some woman with frizzy hair. What’s with the football helmet? I ask. He says, It’s for concentration. Distracting forces see it and it renders them useless. I have no idea what he just said. I say, Where’d you get it? I found it in the... basement, he says. I would hypothesize that it belonged to our dad. Oh, I say. The chin strap makes his face look smashed. It’s a day for interesting headgear, he says, pointing to my hardhat. I found it, I say. He doesn’t ask where. I don’t think he’s at all interested in my life. Sometimes I feel like I’m his little brother and I should be following him around. We are quiet and he types for a minute. Did you see the rainbow? Cheedle asks. No, I say, I missed it. It was strange, he says, still typing.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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