If I die weep at my grave every day until a seedling appears in the dirt,
then cry on it to make it grow until it becomes a beautiful tree whose roots surround my body.
They’re making me go now they’re taking away my phone REMEMBER ME HOLMESY.
Update: I survived. Getting a ride to Applebee’s after work. See you.
In the living room, Mom was grading quizzes with her feet up on the coffee table.
I sat down next to her, and without looking up, she said, “A Lyle from the Pickett estate brought over our canoe today, repaired.
Said you and Daisy were paddling down the White River and hit a rock.”
“Yeah,” I said. “You and Daisy,” she said. “Paddling on the White River.” “Yeah,” I said.
She looked up at last. “Seems like something you would only do if, say, you wanted to run into Davis Pickett.”
I shrugged. “Did it work?” she asked. I shrugged again, but she kept looking at me until I gave in and spoke.
I was just thinking about him. Wanted an excuse to check on him, I guess.”
“How is he doing, without his father?” “I think he’s okay,” I said.
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