She shares what little she has to eat. We copy our tape, and I write the letter. She is so excited when we are done. She doesn’t wait for us to get ...o her room or even on the couch. We are on the floor in front of the stove when her mom comes home. Grace is riding me, cowgirl. She doesn’t even slow down when she sees her mom. It is like this is an everyday experience for them. Grace simply says, “Hi mom,” then ignores her.Her Mom takes off to change, then comes back and steps over us to get at. "PPPllease cccome in." I, through my extreme nervousness (it took all myconscious effort), calmly directed her into the living room and motionedtoward the Laz-Y-Boy chair. She, without a bit of hesitation, without a bit ofsurprise - almost as if this was a regular occurrence during her nocturnalpizza travels - plopped herself down, opened a box of pizza and enthusiasti-cally began to feed.As she sat on the Laz-Y-Boy, I quietly sneaked into the kitchen, out of reachof her unsuspecting eyes.. His brain told him he should tellher to stop, but his mouth said nothing. She placed the feet into the stocking she had rolled up, filling out thefeet, then ankles, calves and finally the thighs. She smooth out thecoffee-colored sheer hose as she did it."Could you do this on your own?" Yes, mummy. I watched my own mother do that."They put the baby doll dress on over his head, and tied the cloth beltthat created a high waist, with the flowing skirt ending in mid thigh.The dress had a square. Dream up something wild and improbable.”—Laini Taylor, Strange the DreamerINDIA INKThose words you found on the written pageThat sounded so wise, the thoughts of a sage,They weren’t really mine; I confess to deceit.They just came from my pen as I sat in my seat:The words and the thoughts of someone, I think,Who works in a lab mixing India Ink.I know each bottle I buy at the storeIs filled with great words of wisdom and lore.Great poems, a novel, a play and short story,Fantasy figures and tales.
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