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"Little Red" Garlock, sixteen years old, skull smashed soft as a rotted
pumpkin and body dumped into the Cassadaga River near the foot of Pitt Street, must
not have sunk as deep as he'd been intended to sink, or floated as far.
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I was the only boy, or girl either, in the public school in the town of Dugton,
Claxford County, Alabama, whose father had ever got killed in the middle of the
night standing up in the front of his wagon to piss on the hindquarters of one of
a span of mules and, being drunk, pitching forward on his head, still hanging onto his dong, and hitting the pike in such a position and condition that both the left front and left rear wheels of the wagon rolled, with perfect precision, over his
unconscious neck, his having passed out being, no doubt, the reason he took the fatal plunge in the first place.
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I was a child murderer.
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