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Show Anting Alone Page 215 the first unambiguous moment of his whole l i f e , shared with the only unambivalent person he'd ever met, besides Shannon. Shannon. Sam took the first swing. And, believe it or not - even he couldn't believe it - , Sam's thumb was clenched firmly inside of his fist as he swung: he was going at Bouncy like some kind of baby or homo. Sam's long arm described such a huge, slow arc, that he had ample time to look at his hand as it moved through the wet air. He noticed the red place where the skin had come away like lip-skin on a popsicle on that frozen (Houstonian? Chicagoan?) telephone pole so long ago. Sam bared his teeth with a smile right into Bouncy's human eyes. Through his blush of excitement, Bouncy's face looked almost amused. He didn't remember how he got to his bed. But now he was here, he wasn't trying to get comfortable. He was just trying to stop bleeding. Only minutes ago it had been a deep boot-print in his middle. Now it was the huge, terrifying, shining, black bowling ball of Death, growing under the blankets, bigger by the minute. His guts felt hot and positioned all wrong inside. He was afraid to lift the blanket and look anymore. Shannon jimmied the door and came in and sat on his stomach like always - except he doubled up around her urgently and whispered, "Aaah, no. Not there." So she stretched out next to him under the covers and cooed sadly over |