Social Themes
After my brother died, my dad said the nightmares—the ghosts—were all in my mind. That they couldn't hurt me. Turns out he was wrong.
"Wait!" Chancellor Holden cried, and fast as a striking hawk he swooped forward and dragged me up by the front of my tunic.
Even as he swooped, I realized that in the fall, my mother's rings had tumbled out the neck of my shirt. I clutched at them, but too late. Chancellor Holden jerked the heavy chain over my head and held it swinging before them all.
Uncle Jean did the one thing you're never supposed to do in a kayak. He leaned over hard, so that all his weight bore down on one side of the kayak. And Uncle Jean is big. We were about to capsize.
Aunt Daisy's words rang in my head, like a song you can't forget, no matter how hard you try. "Three minutes until you lose sensation in your extremities."
I wriggled my fingers and toes. While I still could.
She opened it and sprinkled something onto a hand mirror. A pure white powder. She divided it in half, stuck a short straw up one nostril and snorted the powder.
"Cocaine?" I asked.
"Yeah," she said, "it's way better than beer. Try some." She pushed it towards me. "Go on, it won't hurt you."
I should have said no. But I just stared at that innocent-looking white powder and said nothing.
