scarlet malbro bed

by Rachel Lynch in


That's the girl, the velvet girl, the one my mother didn't like. Saying she's bad news, you can see it in her face, don't mess with her. I once saw her jump from a railroad trestle to the ground twelve feet below, and a hard-packed dirt ground, the boys who were with her and who'd dare her and boasted of not being afraid either had jumped only after hesitating -- the visible sweat of fear. I'd watched her striding across the asphalt school yard, I'd seen her running in my memory once a few years before leaping over a dangerous pit of an opening in a sidewalk on Fairfax where coal thundered down a sliding chute from a truck, and the delivery man shook his fist at her, swore at her and she just ran on not hearing. I don't know what challenges her to take such risks.