The Color Master: Stories
“I was twelve or so then, and generally I found my own way home: bus, walk, hitchhike, bike, get pushed forward by the shoe soles of others. I hardly recognized her car, waiting there by the flagpole with all the other mothercars until she honked and beckoned me inside.
“I’m not supposed to talk to strangers,” I said at the window.
“Get in, William,” she said, pushing open the door. “How was school?”
“Why are you picking me up?”
“Get in,” she said, pushing the door open more.
I had, right then, ...a fast stab of fear in my stomach, like maybe she would kidnap me. Except for the fact that she had birthed me. It was confusing.
I settled into the passenger seat.
“So,” she said, as she pulled out of the school lot. “How was your day?”
“Fine,” I said.
“How are your friends?”
“Fine,” I said.
“That’s good. What did you do today?”
“We played war. How are you?”
… … “You played war on the playground?”
“Yes.”
“War is not a game, William.MoreLess
“I’m not supposed to talk to strangers,” I said at the window.
“Get in, William,” she said, pushing open the door. “How was school?”
“Why are you picking me up?”
“Get in,” she said, pushing the door open more.
I had, right then, ...a fast stab of fear in my stomach, like maybe she would kidnap me. Except for the fact that she had birthed me. It was confusing.
I settled into the passenger seat.
“So,” she said, as she pulled out of the school lot. “How was your day?”
“Fine,” I said.
“How are your friends?”
“Fine,” I said.
“That’s good. What did you do today?”
“We played war. How are you?”
… … “You played war on the playground?”
“Yes.”
“War is not a game, William.MoreLess
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