it was the year of the arsonist. he had started with abandoned buildings
before we moved to the county. a few small wooden skeletons with
charred roof tops. the county had gotten smaller over the years, never
large to begin with. we were shiny like brass pennies before someone 's
thumbprint smudged the surface, though not so easily wiped clean. fallow
fields and inky blackness st night. we began enjoying our life before
the school year started, filed with dancing, bay swims and communal
sunsets, sure that we could change our tiny world, one small child at a
time.
