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Show Why We Cry Butch and Fenn Stories 147 can find them. Fenn finally swamps the bottle by heaving a boulder the size of a skull right next to it. It's not as satisfying as hearing the muffled crash and watching a bottle really go down, but we stand there in the thicket, breathing, and for a moment, it's just like old times; we're just dresed differently. "Hey," Fenn says, pointing: "Check that!" There across the river, high in a tree, which is dead from the waist up like so many of the giant trees in the river vines, hangs a bra, a brassiere. Fenn laughs. The bra is outlined perfectly against the last yellow tinge in the purple sky. "Think of that," he says. "Think of what went in that." "I can imagine." I lie. I can't imagine. I can't imagine how it ever got up there. I've never seen anything so wrong, so out of place. On the way back to the bridge, Fenn asks, "Are you going to dance?" "I don't know. Are you?" "You kidding? Name one girl in our class who isn't a skagg." 3 Linda's house is a long, low brick house, much nicer than anything in our neighborhood. I've seen pictures of houses like this in magazines and they are called "Ranch Houses" for |