“Your grandparents were so lucky,” the bigger boy said to me at play time. “They didn't have to live through the Depression like mine did.” He fiddled with the toy train.
I thought of my grandparents' stories of civil war, of street-vendoring for pennies a day. But my foreign-born shame followed my family's bloodline to this nation, where I was
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Bastard wouldn't let me play with the train, though.
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Of course it's fiction! I didn't have a girlfriend in high school!
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I remember Mrs. Neal, too. I think she was all right.
There was no Sara.
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FICTION
:SOB:
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