“You want to dig one more hole?” Stanley asked him. “We weren’t always homeless,” Zero said. “I remember a yellow room.”
“How old were you when you...” Stanley started to ask, but couldn’t find the right words. “moved out?”
“I don’t know. I must have been real little, because I don’t remember too much. I don’t remember moving out.
I remember standing in a crib, with my mother singing to me.
She held my wrists and made my hands clap together. She used to sing that song to me.
“That one you sang... It was different, though...” Zero spoke slowly, as if searching his brain for memories and clues.
“And then later I know we lived on the street, but I don’t know why we left the house.
I’m pretty sure it was a house, and not an apartment. I know my room was yellow.”
It was late afternoon. They were resting in the shadow of the Thumb.
They had spent the morning picking onions and putting them in the sack.
It didn’t take long, but long enough so that they had to wait another day before heading down the mountain.
They wanted to leave at the first hint of daylight, so they’d have plenty of time to make it to Camp Green Lake before dark.
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