Then We Are Six

Carl wanted to know what I found in his yard when we were six, ran to my house, hid it somewhere, and hid myself in the bath. “You were naked and wet,” he explained. “You didn’t even dry off or clothe up. I can’t remember what you found.” He wanted to know if I took it back in the night, last night.

Carl got electrolysis, so he could get tattoos. The tattoo gun hurt less. A year after the tattoos, his hair grew back.

Carl told me about a film where a woman had teeth in her vagina. I told him about blowjobs. Carl told me he had a photographic subconscious memory.

When we were six, Carl carried something lifeless in his palm. He told his sister not to tell. “It’s not a doll,” his sister said. “Go play with your dolls,” he said. “Was it not a doll?” I said.

Carl pulled his sister out of the big wheel of the road before a car hit her. Then he backed over her the day he got his license.

Carl looked like he wore a toupee when we were six. The other school kids tried to steal the toupee he wasn’t wearing: “Fuck you and your superscalpfuckingglue, man, fucker, toupee fucker!”