Here and how it bent under the weight of the next-door girl, all bones and thin cotton dress swinging on it, talking to me, and how her mother grabbed her tight on the arm: I told you not to hang on that tree. She dragged her and I followed. Hallway, bedroom, yellow mattress with no sheets on it: Now your friend is gonna see you get beat. We had wire hangers, too, but I had never seen them used like that. She couldn’t get away, then, but now even the tree is gone.
Why can’t I remember her name?