It’s getting dark.
We set the pumpkin on the porch.
I’ll get a candle! She runs inside.
Just then, her mom pulls into the driveway;
I wave, but I see she has a strange look.
Etan, she says, closing the car door.
What is that dog doing here?
I look at her, and suddenly every word that bubbled up
immediately pops.
Malia’s allergic to dogs, this will make her skin flare up even more.
Her voice
like cymbals clashing
over my ear.
Malia comes out
with Lola behind her.
Malia, you know better than to play with a dog!
I’m sorry Momma, Malia whispers.
It’s my fault, I think.
Change your clothes right now.
Keep this dog outside.
Let’s call your dad.
I find a word,
Sorry.
Mrs. Agbayani looks at me,
her eyes turned down, shakes her head, walks inside.
That’s when I let myself cry.