People should have to get a license before they get married and go around having kids. My parents would never pass the test. Maybe the written. They talk like they understand. But what was all that crap about unhappiness? They should listen to the kids in my class for one day, see if they could solve their secrets. They have no idea. I had it good. Both parents, both working, never divorced, sleeping in the same house, you don’t find that so much. I’m working on a book about the future. Everybody uses surrogates and children are raised by professionals who get fired if they’re no good. Kids are fine but parents shouldn’t have them. I’m not blind. I know how they were. I heard too much. Mom had one eye out for Dad and one on the door. I know why. Worthless fat animal cunt, good for one thing only and not much good at that. You don’t forget words like that. You don’t forget cleaning up after they took it to their room. She couldn’t go alone. I know that. That’s on me. That Sunday morning the door was unlocked and I saw her looking at the street, listening for something upstairs that would tell her it was time. It was never going to be time. I pulled her through the door and wedged his keys into the trunk of the dogwood tree to slow him down, plus in case I ever needed them, and dragged her to the bus. It wouldn’t be to move back in if I ever did need those keys. I told her we’d go to the zoo. Told the bus driver to call 911 and floor it. I only wish I knew for sure I could trust her to never go back.

Copyright © February 8, 2007 David Hodges