Day 2 part two, 233

There was the time the wasps stung your face. You were poor and they had nothing to give you but baby aspirin and a thick layer of cold mud over the throbbing pain. A cot was made In your mother and fathers bedroom under the window AC, and you slept waking up later in the dark cool room and dried mud crumbling over your pillow. In the summer it was so hot that your mother had to place cold wet washcloths on your head to make you sleep, the windows open to the stagnant air floating off the top of the scum of the trinity. The window screen had patches, and the wooden frames showed signs of rot. The window itself was propped open with a cut off wooden dowel. There was the time you mother asked you to draw a bath for father who was on his way home and everyone forgot and the hallway flooded over the yellow shag carpeting. It smelled like mildew after for months and months. These would be some of the things you’d remember later. But for now the world was becoming larger as your fathers pick- up truck was loaded full of all your things. But not the playhouse and that made you very sad. Don’t cry honey, Daddy will make you a new one. Mama soothed. I don’t want another one, I want my house