“Name’s Car,” he responded when I asked. I tried to memorize his face as he hauled me and Scoot-boy onto his boat. He sounded Cajun, like granny.

I don’t know how long Scoot-boy and me had floated in the jon boat, how long I pretended, prayed, how long I hoped, fearful we’d catch a current and end up in the Gulf. Once on a boat with a motor and direction, I started crying, letting loose the emotions dammed up inside.

“Hey, now. You’re safe. I got you,” Car said, grinning.

Scoot-boy licked away my tears.

For an instant, the sky brightened.

end 8/31/2017

Sascha Darlington