Winter Early 1967, age 15
The rain lashed down outside as I watched TV alone in the telly room. I heard someone tapping on the window of the front door. Dilly was out and Dad never answered the door. Would John or Toody come downstairs?
More tapping and letterbox rattling. Grumpily, I stepped into the frigid hall and pulled the door open. There stood Jamillah on the doorstep, drenched and miserable, hair dripping with rain, mascara running down her cheeks. We stood there awkwardly. [Read more…] about 6: An Aborted Trial