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Show Woodworth/235 Someone is calling ^artymartymarty, but they could be calling her forward into the nothing, but she can't tell because she is screaming one long note that starts wordlessly and ends with her knowing that what she is calling in her dark nightmare room is Commie. Jake has died. Not Jake. Jake is dead. Details. Remember the details. A corner grazed from the rug. Horses. Horses running around and around a pond, and the school bell that meant it*s dinner time. Walking home from school, heavy books and too much homework. No, that was walking. When? After the taxi ride. The taxi ride was warm, safe. When was it? Hiking out, way out over the water. "If I had wings, no one would ask me could I fly-" Looking back, there's no one at the helm. Jake? Jake? He tiptoes into her room. Jake is in bed with her. No, it's ffiegan, her feet cold and damp, rubbing all over, up and down the sides of the mattress. Taking up too much room, jabbing with sharp elbows. No, not there. She gets up and goes to the grazed place on the rug. Play house with me, Jake? Play horses with me? She hands him a whip, cut from'the willow tree. She takes a piece of rope and bites it. It tastes dusty and prickles her mouth. Under the r prickles is the soft place, where the fibers all run in the same direction. Play horses'with me? Megan comes and stands on the hill, her hair standing out from her head in all directions. She is holding her stuffed giraffe by the neck, his legs dangle an inch from the ground. "Do you wanna play aminals, tyarty?" she asks. She's so young. She's already in her pajamas and has snuck out to play again. "No." /^arty won't look at her. "Jake and I are playing." Megan sits on the hill and watches them. Jake is poking the mud, looking for frogs. "Do you want to play horses, Jake?" She |