Ralph

Lou kicked me right in the nuts. She didn’t mean to, she was asleep—I’m pretty sure—but it still really hurt. But at least it woke me up. I was having a nightmare. It was morning but it was still a nightmare.

It was all gray out and windy, in the nightmare I mean, and Dad was digging a huge hole in the backyard. He had to hurry up because the wind was bringing all these arrows, millions, you could see them way off in the distance, and at first I thought he was digging a fallout shelter but he wasn’t, he was digging a grave. Me and Lou and Mom had to get in so he could bury us because afterwards there wouldn’t be anyone left to do it. The wind was blowing loud and the arrows were getting closer and Lou was crying—she’s eight, I’m ten—and Mom was shouting, “Who’s going to bury you?” and Dad was shouting back, “Nobody! Nobody!” He was all drunk and wild and sorry for himself, like he gets. Then Mom was standing in the hole helping Lou down, telling me, “Come on, Ralph,” like it was no big deal getting buried alive. So then we all stood there in the hole looking up at Dad, but he was way drunk now and just kept strumming on the shovel, singing down to us, deep like Johnny Cash: I hear that train a-comin, comin round the bend...

Then Lou kicked me.