by Marian Allen
I’m enjoying my brief holiday. I sit on the creek bank watching the fairy-winged insects Gramma called “snake doctors” and think about Hank.
He used to like it when I talked to people we didn’t know. He called me “gregarious” and said it was what first attracted him to me. The longer we were together, though, the less he liked it. And “gregarious” isn’t what he called it this morning when all I did was wave at some guy driving past the creek.
I sure didn’t like what he called me, and I didn’t like his jerking me around and slapping me, either.
When the guy came back past, I told him to call the cops. They’ll be here, soon, and my holiday will be all over. Meanwhile, I’ll sit here with my bare feet in the water, enjoying the sunshine and listening to the buzz of the flies and watching the snake doctors land on Hank and fly away, shaking their heads because they were too late to save him.