Angela had snatched up a new baby doll of firm, shiny plastic on the way out of the house. Now she was showing it off to the other kids. As I watched the screen—and remembered—a five-year-old neighbor boy came running up to join us waving a bright red toy pick-up truck. Angela had greeted him by swinging her doll at him without warning and slashing open his forehead. She laughed delightedly, right there on the screen.
Then the screen went black, leaving only one tiny spot of white glowing in the center before it, too, disappeared.
I let out a slow breath. The little boy had needed two stitches. Angela’s parents had beaten her and locked her in her room all day without food. I had been horrified by her and by her punishment.
Kids are kids, though, and the next day we had played together
