Six Pairs of Thick Gray Socks Saved My White House on Elm Street

on the cellar door. He spat onto the grass, climbed into the cab of the truck, and slammed the door. The engine roared, throwing a cloud of dark smoke over my lilac bushes as he backed the heavy yellow nose of the vehicle into the street.

Brenda did not follow him. She stood on the gravel, her thin coat wrapped tight around her middle, watching me with continue reading …