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  • We made him eat dogshit. I think I was eight. He always chased us girls. Not like the other boys, who just wanted to tag-you’re-it or play war, but he’d chase us up into the dogwoods trying to kiss us. We knew that was wrongness, it was other. Interfering with our play our dry dirt games and leafy bush games. We hid under my front porch one day, all dark cool earth and rustling leaves. Who had the idea first? We had a chocolate milk carton, from school lunch. Someone whispered, “put dog-doo in it, I bet he’ll drink it! I bet he will!” Thin child hands took it, mixing the concoction with water from the spigot set into the bricks. It smelled sickeningly sweet and foul. We called him over and he took it from our hands, and he drank iit. I think he spewed it out. I hope I do remember that. I wish I could forget it ever happened. But I can’t.
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