Maybe it was the way I screamed, but finally, finally, a seven-year-old-girl sat up in bed and stared at me. She took her thumb out of her mouth long enough for one word.
"What?"
"You can see me?"
She nodded.
"Why are you still sucking your thumb, how old are you?"
"You're not my mom." And she made a gesture she shouldn't have known.
"Listen," I said. "I need your help. I'm always cold. I can't get warm and I need to get warm."
1 comment:
Here, like this:
Maybe it was the way I screamed, but finally, finally, a seven-year-old-girl sat up in bed and stared at me. She took her thumb out of her mouth long enough for one word.
"What?"
"You can see me?"
She nodded.
"Why are you still sucking your thumb, how old are you?"
"You're not my mom." And she made a gesture she shouldn't have known.
"Listen," I said. "I need your help. I'm always cold. I can't get warm and I need to get warm."
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