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July 4, 2006

One hot night he fled, crashing the front door behind him. It opened at once and the mad, spiky silhouette of his mother, ashamed to come out in her curlers, yelled: “I hope the bogey man gets you!” He ran the length of their road, maybe a mile. He was nine, small and skinny and no athlete. At the corner he stopped, gasping, and sat for a while on the curb-stone wondering where he could go. Nowhere. So he got up and his body walked back, but his mind never went home. He’s been trying ever since to reunite them.

by Jean Morris of This Too

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  1. July 4, 2006 at 2:42 pm

    Oh, Jean, wonderful. This little story resonates so much with me. How much empathy I feel for this boy…

  2. July 4, 2006 at 6:34 pm

    No need to say, probably, how much this resonates with me :-)

    Beautifully wrought, Jean.

  3. July 5, 2006 at 9:55 am

    Me three.

    And the wordplay in your title is delightful.

  4. July 5, 2006 at 12:31 pm

    Oh wonderful. Thanks, Jean.



  5. July 5, 2006 at 3:52 pm

    ‘his body walked back, but his mind never went home.’

    well said, jean

  6. MB
    July 13, 2006 at 6:46 pm

    Me six, Jean. This is strong.

  7. July 15, 2006 at 12:43 am

    Wonderful!! So many images, so many feelings.

  8. July 24, 2006 at 7:16 pm

    Utterly scary moment, that separation.

    You capture it in its escape that is a sundering far too well.

    Sends a shiver up my spine; it’s real writing.

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