“Everybody hates me . . . think I’ll go eat worms.”
Trevor erupted with mean spirited laughter. I did too. It was like poetry to us. Again, I don’t know why. Kids can be cruel.
“Again,” I prompted, taking him by the arm and leading him up the steep trail to the top of the dike. Trevor followed, bag in hand. His favorite part was still coming up.
“Nobody loves me . . . everybody hates me . . . think I’ll go eat worms.” We had to listen closely to make out all the words, he was unclear at best. We knew he was singing it right though. “Nobody loves me . . . everybody hates me . . . think I’ll go eat worms.”
We led him down the other side to the beach. The water, spring melt from further up in the mountains, was still too cold for swimming. It was also swift and high, covering a
