What he wouldn’t have given to have a kid die at sixteen.
Suddenly Mom was standing between the TV and me, her hands folded behind her back.
“Hazel,” she said. Her voice was so serious I thought something might be wrong.
“Yes?” “Do you know what today is?” “It’s not my birthday, is it?”
She laughed. “Not just yet. It’s July fourteenth, Hazel.”
“Is it your birthday?” “No...” “Is it Harry Houdini’s birthday?” “No...”
“I am really tired of guessing.”
“IT IS BASTILLE DAY!” She pulled her arms from behind her back,
producing two small plastic French flags and waving them enthusiastically.
“That sounds like a fake thing. Like Cholera Awareness Day.”
“I assure you, Hazel, that there is nothing fake about Bastille Day.
Did you know that two hundred and twenty-three years ago today,
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