The only reason I didn’t shake more was because the Portuguese leaned my back against his chest and held me by the shoulders, firmly but gently.
It won’t hurt much. When it’s over, I’ll take you for a soda and sweets.
If you don’t cry, I’ll buy you some sweets that come with trading cards.
I mustered up all the courage I could. The tears streamed down my face and I let them do everything.
They gave me stitches and even an anti-tetanus injection.
I struggled against the desire to throw up. The Portuguese held me tight as if he wanted to take on a little of my pain.
He mopped my sweaty hair and face with his handkerchief.
It felt like it was never going to end. But it did eventually.
When he took me to the car, he was satisfied. He had done everything he’d promised.
Except that now I didn’t want anything. It was as if my soul had been torn out through my feet.
You can’t go to school now, squirt.We were in the car and I was sitting very close to him,
leaning against his arm, almost getting in the way of his driving.
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