24
Toronto 1961
Miryam sat in the back of the Chevy with the window open feeling the air stream in, blowing her hair back. Birdie drove. She kept her eyes closed.
“I haven’t done this for years not since I was a little girl. It seems like forever ago. It feels so good.” She retrieved the wig from the back seat and tossed it out the window. “Let some other slave have it.”
“I’m sure that cost a few bucks,” I said, knowing the ones made of real hair ran in the hundreds.
“I don’t care,” Miryam said. “I couldn’t wait to get rid of it.”
“I think your house is still off limits,” I said.
“Then take me to my Aunt Helen’s…if that’s all right,” she said, catching Birdie’s eye in the rearview mirror. He touched the brim of his hat.
“Yes, Missy, where evers you wish to go.”
“Oh stop it. I’m so
