As we huddle there on the musty earth,sweating,our palms pressed together, listening to the whispers of our breath and the stomp of daddy's boots as he searches haven and hell and everywhere in between for the sad likes of his wife's bastard son.someday, whisper iggy, I'm going to leave this place and I'm going to do great things.I'll become a pilot or a president, and then he'll know what I am. He'll look at me and say he's sorry, and I'll tell him to go to hell. I didn't say anything to that. Momma once told me your brother is a gentle giant. She took a long puff of her cigarette.but someday mark my words, your brother going to snap.someday when your daddy gives him what's for what, he's going to give it back to him, you just watch out for that day.she seems hopeful when she said it. Remembering her words now, I feel anything but hopeful.I pray today isn't that day. Above us, the door slammed.
