Betty G\u2019s been my girlfriend since seventh grade, and there was a time she liked nothing better than getting high and doing the nasty. But lately\u2014like just now in her apartment over the laundromat\u2014she\u2019ll smoke a joint and fall asleep, leaving me stoned and forsaken with my dick in my hand.<\/p>\n
I think about whacking one out by myself, but then I remember how Lloyd might walk in any minute, so I zip up and light a cigarette. Betty G\u2019s in her swimsuit, and I flick the match against her naked back.<\/p>\n
She jerks. \u201cGod, Mitch, grow up,\u201d she says for, like, the fortieth time this week. I\u2019m sixteen and she\u2019s eighteen, but before she dropped out we were in the same class, on account of her being in and out of juvie.<\/p>\n
I should be in juvie myself, but my dad\u2019s the town marshal, so draw your own conclusions on that score. He\u2019s tried every which way to civilize me, the most recent being this drug camp outside Fort Wayne, with canoes and rope climbs and fried old hippies explaining why we do what we do.<\/p>\n
It starts tomorrow, and Dad says he\u2019s driving me there at gunpoint.<\/p>\n
So, seeings how in twenty-four hours I\u2019ll be up to my ass in stoners jonesing for hit, Lloyd and I and Betty G are headed to Fish Lake today to snag a package at the Hilltop Inn, where a guy called Zoom sells Dr. Pepper and burgers and weed by the bag if he thinks you\u2019re cool.<\/p>\n
Zoom wears wifebeaters and flipflops and calls me \u201cLittle Dude\u201d because I had rheumatic fever and will never be taller than five-foot-four. He was weird about being my dealer because of my dad, until I told him that not doing business with me was the surest way for Dad to find out.<\/p>\n
Betty G snorts awake. \u201cWe going swimming or what?\u201d A dryer starts up downstairs. The floorboards hum.<\/p>\n
\u201cSoon as Lloyd gets here,\u201d I say, and just like that the big goober walks in, combed and spiffed after chores. His folks are Amish, so you might think he\u2019s a weird match for a fuckhead like me, but he likes drugs and cars and rock and roll better than most people, maybe because he\u2019ll have to dump all three once he joins the church.<\/p>\n
\u201cCrank it up, girls,\u201d he says.<\/p>\n
\u201cI smell cow shit,\u201d Betty G says.<\/p>\n
\u201cNature\u2019s cologne,\u201d he answers.<\/p>\n
We smoke what\u2019s left of the roach, then take Lloyd\u2019s car to the lake, me in the passenger seat and Betty G in back, her big feet on the cushion beside my head. She\u2019s kind of horsey to be honest\u2014all gums and teeth and a lopey way of walking\u2014but guys like her because she says fuck a lot and wears cutoffs so short you can see where her butt starts. She had notions of being a model until she showed up high for a cattle call and had a panic attack when it came her turn on stage.<\/p>\n
Later she thought she\u2019d be a stewardess, but now she wants to start a bakery. Everybody likes cookies, she figures, and, besides, the one time she was on an airplane she threw up.<\/p>\n
She\u2019s three inches taller than me, but outside appearances don\u2019t mean anything, she says. We\u2019re all butterflies, nestled in our cocoons, waiting for the spring.<\/p>\n
I\u2019ve been around for sixteen springs, I answer, and shit never changes, but she says she\u2019s talking about another kind of spring\u2014that place each of us is meant to be.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019ll know it when you see it, babes,\u201d she says.<\/p>\n
When we get to the Hilltop, I yell in the window for Zoom to get my package together, and we head down to the lake. Lloyd sits on the pier\u2014Amish kids weren\u2019t allowed to take lessons at the Y like the rest of us\u2014as Betty G and I swim to the raft. There\u2019s a dozen guys out there already, and she stretches among them like a kitten among pit bulls. I float on my back and let the sun cook my eyeballs.<\/p>\n
I kind of hate everything, if you want to know the truth.<\/p>\n
I hate the sky because it\u2019s blue and water because it\u2019s wet.<\/p>\n
I hate my parents for thinking I\u2019ll shape up any day and become a Rotarian.<\/p>\n
I hate Lloyd because we both know he\u2019s only playing the hoodlum until he marries some chick named Miriam or Etta Sue and starts shoveling cow shit full time.<\/p>\n
Mostly, I hate Betty G for being so snotty and adult lately, for telling me to grow up all the time, for flashing her stuff at anything in pants and then saying I\u2019m paranoid for noticing.<\/p>\n
After a while I see her yakking with this guy people call Jesus. He has long hair and a beard and a dreamy way of gazing at you, but I know him and his friends to be everyday punks from Churubusco, a town north of here. He\u2019s talking to Betty G all warm and thoughtful like he\u2019s looking into her soul, when what he\u2019s really looking into is the nubby top of her two-piece.<\/p>\n
I climb the ladder and ask\u2014seeings how chatty they are\u2014do they have anything to say to me, and Betty G says, \u201cGod, babes. Can\u2019t two people talk?\u201d<\/p>\n
Jesus is sitting cross-legged, face level with my waist. His chest is cheesy white, with something like three black hairs per nipple. \u201cYeah, babes,\u201d he says, and I catch him one in the mouth.<\/p>\n
Things go fucked up from there. Betty G yells. Jesus\u2019 buddies grab me. He punches me in the ear. I fall back into the water like a wounded duck.<\/p>\n
Fish Lake is twelve feet deep at the raft, and I sink as far as I can to clear my head. I love going to the bottom. The pale fingers of sunlight, weeds swaying in the muck, a million gallons in your ears\u2026 it\u2019s peaceful as death. I\u2019d stay down there forever if I didn\u2019t have to breathe.<\/p>\n
When I come up, Betty G is swimming to the pier, and Jesus is grinning from the raft like he\u2019s admiring his own reflection. His look has gone from dreamy to devilish on account of the blood in his beard. \u201cDon\u2019t leave yet, babes,\u201d he says. \u201cClimb back up here and get your ass kicked some more.\u201d<\/p>\n
I\u2019m tempted. I got no problem getting my ass kicked so long as I get in some kicking of my own, but including his disciples there are six of them, so I give a wave that means Another time, and swim to the pier myself.<\/p>\n
There Betty G doesn\u2019t say anything about the fight, because what else is new? Once, though, as I\u2019m toweling off, I say \u201cHey!\u201d real loud, just to watch her jump.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhaaaaat?\u201d she says, all falsely accused.<\/p>\n
Truth is, I knew I was going to punch Jesus before I climbed the raft, because once I get an itch I can\u2019t help but scratch it. Same as when I sliced my hand open in biology class and thought it would be cool to pour ink in the cut. Or the time I figured a buck knife at the hardware store would fit perfect in my pocket, and old Mr. Newell caught me and ratted me out to my dad.<\/p>\n
\u201cChrist, boy,\u201d Dad said on the drive home, \u201cI\u2019ll buy you all the knives you want.\u201d<\/p>\n
Uh-huh. Tell that to my itch.<\/p>\n
We head up to the Hilltop and grab a booth, and after a minute Zoom comes over with Dr. Pepper in plastic cups. He\u2019s thirty or sixty\u2014don\u2019t ask which\u2014with a bald skull and a string for a ponytail. He\u2019s usually half-baked, but today he\u2019s locked on me like a teacher when it\u2019s time for a talking-to.<\/p>\n
\u201cCan\u2019t be fighting out here, Little Dude,\u201d he says. \u201cThat shit attracts attention.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHe didn\u2019t start it,\u201d Betty G says.<\/p>\n
Zoom turns real slow like he only just realized she was there. \u201cAnd you, honey-butt. You can\u2019t be twitching your tail and getting the boys riled up. That\u2019s the opposite of copacetic, which is how shit needs to be.\u201d<\/p>\n
This strikes Lloyd and Betty G as the funniest thing ever. They wheeze and hug each other. \u201cCan\u2019t be twitching your tail, honey-butt,\u201d Lloyd says.<\/p>\n
Zoom isn\u2019t laughing. \u201cFor real, man. Wilkey told me to put the kibosh on troublemakers, or he shuts me down.\u201d<\/p>\n
I\u2019m not laughing either. My ear hurts, and I\u2019m pissed how la-dee-da Betty G is, seeings how if anybody started the fight, she did. Wilkey owns the Ford dealership and also the Hilltop, and he threatens to close the latter every month or so, on account he\u2019s a deacon at Mount Moriah Baptist and has a giant stick up his ass.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou got bigger problems than Wilkey,\u201d I say.<\/p>\n
\u201cLike what, man?\u201d Zoom says. His wifebeater rides up to show a roll of cookie dough hanging over his shorts. His eyes look like somebody blew matches out in them.<\/p>\n
\u201cLike this,\u201d I say, sweeping the cups off the table. Dr. Pepper and ice fly everywhere. \u201cDo what you want with other punks out here, but fuck with me and you get a visit from my dad.\u201d<\/p>\n
He blinks once or twice. \u201cThat\u2019s bogus, dude,\u201d he says.<\/p>\n
\u201cSo, get what I came for and I\u2019m out.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThing is\u201d\u2014he rubs his belly and glances around\u2014\u201cmy guy needs the paper up front. Shit\u2019s getting hairy lately.\u201d<\/p>\n
He knows as well as I do there\u2019ll be no paper until drug camp is over. We\u2019ve had that deal before. \u201cYou\u2019ll get your money,\u201d I say.<\/p>\n
\u201cThem\u2019s the terms, though. I\u2019m just the messenger.\u201d<\/p>\n
In the parking lot Betty G hangs on my neck and giggles. \u201cCan\u2019t be fucking with Little Dude.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHe\u2019ll tell his dad on you,\u201d Lloyd says.<\/p>\n
I have to laugh. \u201cThat\u2019s bogus,\u201d I say.<\/p>\n
We\u2019re almost to the car when I hear a yell. I squint down at the water, and there\u2019s Jesus waving from the raft. His buddies are gone and it\u2019s him alone, rimmed in afternoon sun, skinny as a refugee. \u201cCome back, babes,\u201d he shouts. \u201cWe got unfinished business.\u201d<\/p>\n
Lloyd shoves me along. \u201cNot now, Mitch. We got shit to figure out.\u201d<\/p>\n
He\u2019s right. It\u2019s only hours \u2018til drug camp, and I need money bad.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat about the old lady with the wad in her mattress?\u201d I say in the car.<\/p>\n
Betty G\u2019s in back again, twirling bubblegum on a fingernail. \u201cWho?\u201d she says, though I can tell she knows what I mean.<\/p>\n
\u201cViolet or whatever.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s Rose, and that\u2019s not happening.\u201d<\/p>\n
Rose used to foster Betty G on Milton Street, but now she lives in a place called The Point, where old people sing around the piano and try to pretend they\u2019re not almost dead. Her husband was a banker or something, and Rose always had a roll stashed in her bedroom, where twelve-year-old Betty G peeled off a twenty for herself now and then.<\/p>\n
She kicks my seat. \u201cI mean it.\u201d Rose was sweet, she says, and foster parents are sometimes the opposite of sweet, what with the family being all hard-ass with rules and regs, or the man of the house a tad too pleased having teenage strange around.<\/p>\n
\u201cChill,\u201d I say. \u201cWe\u2019ll just talk to her.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019ve seen how you talk.\u201d<\/p>\n
We stop at Waffle City, and I lean in with my plan over pancakes and eggs. We visit Rose\u2019s apartment. Betty G and Lloyd sit and talk about dead Mr. Rose or whatever. I excuse myself to take a leak and toss the bedroom.<\/p>\n
Easy money, in and out. I wouldn\u2019t even have the idea if Betty G\u2014Miss Conscience all of a sudden\u2014hadn\u2019t done the same herself.<\/p>\n
Lloyd\u2019s lifts his head from his plate like it\u2019s too heavy for his neck. \u201cHow about we pay her back when camp\u2019s over?\u201d<\/p>\n
Betty G glances around. Her mood has improved considerably, seeings how she\u2019s still in just her swimsuit and a T-shirt, and every man in the place\u2014the waiter, the cook, old marrieds peeking over their menus so their wives don\u2019t see\u2014can\u2019t get enough of her.<\/p>\n
\u201cCan we do that, Mitch? Pay her back, I mean?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSure.\u201d<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The sun\u2019s an orange ball behind the trees when we turn into The Point, and right away people are staring from the sidewalks at Lloyd\u2019s car, with its bad muffler and spangly shit hanging off the antenna.<\/p>\n
Betty G kicks my seat again. \u201cNo lake stuff, okay?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cRight. Like I\u2019m going to punch an old lady.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cRelax, kid,\u201d Lloyd says. \u201cI\u2019ll mind your boy.\u201d He waves at some guy pushing a walker, and after gaping a second the guy waves back.<\/p>\n
Rose lives in a building like a dormitory, and as we walk down the hall I get a whiff that takes me back to when my grandpa lived with us, peeing himself in front of the TV. People\u2019s names\u2014Myrtle, Wilbur\u2014are on the doors, game shows blare, and I know, without knowing how, that I\u2019ll die before I get old.<\/p>\n
Betty G knocks at Rose\u2019s door, and after about an hour it cracks open and an old lady is peering at us like her last company was when the Mayflower landed. She\u2019s wearing glasses, and her head is lit from the inside so her scalp glows through her hair.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s me, Mama,\u201d Betty G says. \u201cElizabeth Grace.\u201d<\/p>\n
Rose stares another beat, and then her face blooms like a flower. \u201cElizabeth Grace. My darling girl.\u201d<\/p>\n
Betty G kind of shudders. \u201cIt\u2019s me, Mama,\u201d she says again. She and Rose fall into each other\u2019s arms, rocking back and forth and crying. Lloyd grins at me over their heads.<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd who are these handsome fellows?\u201d Rose says when they untangle. She\u2019s no bigger than an eight-year-old.<\/p>\n
\u201cMitch and Lloyd,\u201d Betty G says, throwing me a look. \u201cMy best friends.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd you all came to see me.\u201d A door opens across the hall, and Rose yells, \u201cNot now, Margaret.\u201d I catch blue hair and a robe. \u201cShe\u2019s just awful,\u201d Rose says.<\/p>\n
So, everybody and his dog saw us drive into The Point, Rose knows our names, and awful old Margaret got an eyeful. Real criminal masterminds, us.<\/p>\n
\u201cCan we come in for a bit?\u201d Betty G says.<\/p>\n
\u201cMercy, now I\u2019m the awful one,\u201d Rose says. She herds us down the hall into a room with a couch and a kitchenette. A bunch of pictures hang on the wall: a painting of a swan on a naked chick\u2019s lap, Jesus and the multitudes, a photo of a man seated stiff and angry on a stool, and (maybe?) a young Rose behind him in a dress to her ankles.<\/p>\n
Tucked in the photo\u2019s frame is a Polaroid of Betty G from junior high. She\u2019s all leggy and cute, and I remember how her tongue tasted like Pop Rocks, how we\u2019d smoke a joint before history, how nobody believed a girl like her could go for a punk like me.<\/p>\n
She and I and Rose sit on the couch and right away Betty G takes off on how she\u2019s going to open a place called Betty\u2019s Sweets, how local celebrities\u2014news people and whatnot\u2014will sign photos on the wall, how the scones Rose taught her to make will be the house specialty.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019ve thought hard about it, Mama,\u201d she says. \u201cIt\u2019s where I\u2019m meant to be.\u201d<\/p>\n
Rose nods, though I can tell she\u2019s catching only pieces of what\u2019s going on. Her shoulders join her neck in a little hump. Her hands are veins and chicken bones. Her glasses make her eyes huge, grays and blues swimming together like Aggie marbles.<\/p>\n
All of a sudden she says to Betty G, \u201cHe\u2019s like a doll, isn\u2019t he?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWho is, Mama?\u201d<\/p>\n
She puts a hand on my knee. \u201cThis one.\u201d<\/p>\n
I don\u2019t know what she means, except maybe because I\u2019m runty and don\u2019t shave yet I look nicer than I am.<\/p>\n
Lloyd snorts from his chair. \u201cOh, he\u2019s a real Howdy Doody.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBut goodness,\u201d Rose says. \u201cWhat happened there?\u201d She touches my ear where Jesus hit me. It\u2019s pulpy and swollen like a boxer\u2019s and throbs like a bitch.<\/p>\n
\u201cI bumped myself,\u201d I say.<\/p>\n
\u201cKenneth does the same. If it isn\u2019t one thing, it\u2019s another.\u201d I glance at Betty G, and she gives me a You-got-me look. \u201cBut Kenneth,\u201d Rose adds, \u201cnever considers the consequences. It\u2019s hurry-hurry until somebody\u201d\u2014she goes for my ear again\u2014”bumps himself.\u201d<\/p>\n
I hate people touching me, and I lean away. \u201cEasy on the merchandise.\u201d<\/p>\n
She sways and laughs. \u201cYou were always so particular.\u201d She turns to Betty G. \u201cDid you know, Elizabeth, that Kenneth visits most every night?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHe does?\u201d Betty G says, her face both smiley and desperate, like when the carnival ride you\u2019re on goes from fun to scary in a split second.<\/p>\n
\u201cOh, yes. He sits where that one\u201d\u2014Rose points at Lloyd\u2014\u201cis sitting right now.\u201d<\/p>\n
Lloyd nods helpfully. \u201cThe seat\u2019s still warm.\u201d<\/p>\n
A crackly voice comes from across the hall. \u201cI won\u2019t!\u201d it yells. Another voice rolls in, real patient and firm, and I figure old Margaret\u2019s getting a shot or an enema.<\/p>\n
\u201cOh, Mama,\u201d Betty G says, \u201cyou\u2019re seeing ghosts.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI am not.\u201d Rose looks at me. \u201cDo you know, Kenneth, how I can tell you\u2019re real when you visit? Because when nurse Ivy barges in with my pills, you jump.\u201d She smiles, all pleased with herself. \u201cHe jumps like he\u2019s startled, dear,\u201d she says to Betty G. \u201cWhat sort of ghost does that?\u201d<\/p>\n
Everything\u2019s quiet, and I get this hum\u2014not a sound, but a vibe\u2014that I know is Betty G pleading we leave an old lady to her spooks.<\/p>\n
But like I said, once the itch comes on, it\u2019s like a truck rolling downhill.<\/p>\n
\u201cI have to go to the bathroom,\u201d I say.<\/p>\n
\u201cDidn\u2019t you go earlier?\u201d Betty G says real quick.<\/p>\n
\u201cI have to go again.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBut\u2014”<\/p>\n
\u201cGracious, Elizabeth,\u201d Rose says. \u201cKenneth\u2019s a grownup.\u201d She smiles at me. \u201cYou know where it is, dear. Through the bedroom.\u201d<\/p>\n
I stand and head that way, and as I pass Lloyd he says, \u201cDon\u2019t be long, Kenneth.\u201d He says it funny-like, though I can tell he wants to bail too.<\/p>\n
\u201cDon\u2019t be a pussy,\u201d I say.<\/p>\n
Rose\u2019s bedroom buts up to the toilet, where I switch on a bulb and turn to scope things out. There\u2019s a bed and a dresser with a mirror and not much else. I rummage in a side table drawer but turn up nothing but Kleenex and a tobacco tin full of hairpins and buttons and stuff. On the tabletop is a photo of the man from Rose\u2019s wall. He looks angry here too, maybe because he\u2019s wearing a collar so tight it\u2019s a wonder he didn\u2019t choke.<\/p>\n
I check the bed to be sure\u2014you always hear how old people hide money under the mattress or bury it out back in a Mason jar\u2014but I figure the dresser is my target.<\/p>\n
And I\u2019m right. Within minutes of pawing through old lady undies, I find a roll as big as my fist. It\u2019s wrapped in a rubber band and looks to be mostly tens and twenties. I heft it, feeling that familiar buzz, when Rose says from the other room. \u201cDo you remember, Elizabeth, how we used to make scones?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI do, Mama,\u201d Betty G says, like she wants to cry.<\/p>\n
\u201cKenneth loves scones.\u201d<\/p>\n
You may think I\u2019m bullshitting, but if you were to open my brain and poke around, you\u2019d find soft places here and there. I cried when my dog Rags died. And sometimes when Mom makes me cocoa and toast, I get a tightness in my chest that might be love. And at night, when the wind\u2019s rattling the windows and I\u2019ve gone days without seeing Betty G or Lloyd, I get so lonely I can\u2019t breathe, like I\u2019m tangled in the weeds at the bottom of the lake, like there\u2019s twelve feet of black water between me and the air.<\/p>\n
Betty G\u2019s teary voice hits me like that, and I think for a second of peeling off the bills I need and leaving the rest.<\/p>\n
But just as quick I think how jizzed she gets lately over other guys\u2019 attention, how she played me and Churubusco Jesus against each other, how she and Lloyd are both headed down a road without me\u2014her to her glorious bakery, him into the arms of church and family\u2014and I\u2019m a trashy rest stop along the way.<\/p>\n
Who\u2019s the pussy? I think. I twist the rubber band, and it breaks and stings me a good one. I say Fuck! and put my finger to my lip, and there in front of me is the glowing outline of someone watching everything I\u2019m up to.<\/p>\n
I say Fuck! again, this time so loud the talk in living room stops.<\/p>\n
My fear melts in a second, once I realize the witness is me\u2014a smalltown thief rimmed in bathroom light, in a dresser mirror he\u2019d forgotten was there.<\/p>\n
\u201cIs that you, Kenneth?\u201d Rose calls.<\/p>\n
I stuff the wad in my pocket and walk back to where everybody\u2019s waiting.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt is you.\u201d Rose turns to Betty G. \u201cWhat did I tell you? He comes most every night.\u201d She frowns at Lloyd. \u201cYou, mister. That\u2019s Kenneth\u2019s chair.\u201d<\/p>\n
Lloyd pops up like a Jack-in-the-Box, but I say, \u201cWe have to go.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOh, but\u2026\u201d Rose pushes to her feet. \u201cYou only just arrived.\u201d She totters over and hugs my waist. \u201cUntil tomorrow then,\u201d she murmurs into my face. \u201cWe\u2019ll make scones.\u201d<\/p>\n
Like I said, I don\u2019t go for touching, but I put my arms around her and squeeze for what feels like forever. Her rib cage swells. Her heart thumps like a bat in a wet paper bag. I let go only when Lloyd says, \u201cDude,\u201d real careful and quiet, like he doesn\u2019t want to startle me, like you\u2019d talk to someone playing with a loaded gun.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Nobody says anything on the way to the lake. Betty G sits in back with her knees to her chest, and Lloyd holds the wheel at a perfect ten and two like they teach you in Driver\u2019s Ed. He glances at me once or twice, but that\u2019s all.<\/p>\n
At the Hilltop I step from the car and wait, though when neither of them gets out, I crunch across the gravel to do the deal alone. It\u2019s barely nine, but the door\u2019s locked and the lights are off, and I figure Zoom closed early and is passed out on his backroom cot.<\/p>\n
I go around and try that door, but it\u2019s locked too. Peering in, I see the room is empty\u2014even Zoom\u2019s cot is gone\u2014and I figure Wilkey has shut him down at last.<\/p>\n
I walk to the front and look down toward the lake, its surface dark except for moonlight on the ripples. I imagine how black the bottom must be, like the beginning or the end of the world.<\/p>\n
I want to tell you about when Rose hugged me. It might have been the scare I got from my reflection, or because my ear still hurt where Jesus hit me, or because I had a glimpse of how alone I am and was always meant to be, but I got an itch to crush the breath out of that old lady, to feel her ribs break like so many dry sticks, to stop her heart in her chest.<\/p>\n
It took everything I had to fight it.<\/p>\n
But fight it I did, and for all the ways I\u2019m a bad guy, for all the ways I let my parents down, for all the ways I\u2019ll fuck up my future, I deserve credit for that at least.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
She\u2019s three inches taller than me, but outside appearances don\u2019t mean anything, she says. We\u2019re all butterflies, nestled in our cocoons, waiting for the spring. I\u2019ve been around for sixteen springs, I say, and shit never changes, but she says she\u2019s talking about another kind of spring\u2014that place each of us is meant to be.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":19458,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[6],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-19325","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-fiction","writer-bob-johnson"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/19325","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=19325"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/19325\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":19459,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/19325\/revisions\/19459"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/19458"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=19325"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=19325"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=19325"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}