I Am the Coyote, I Am the Snake
I don’t remember my real name, but I remember his.
He took me when I was thirteen ….
Her last good memory, the last day of her childhood, was walking home from school on a day bright with the promise of the summer vacation yet to come. It was too fine of a day for riding the school bus, so she’d missed it intentionally. She liked the walk home, the bustle of the square, the apple orchard at the edge of town, the wooded path to her home.
But before home, there was the highway. Rush hour was still on the horizon, but the four-lane was lousy with over the road trucks, and the approaching thunder of motorbikes.
Instead of waiting for an opening she left the main road and walked along the highway to the parched bed of Dry Creek. It wasn’t far, she could
