Utah Saints (pt 9).

I let Carl Lee drive a little longer and then we pull over and switch ‘cause he’s shaking real bad ‘cause he’s cold. The heater works a little bit better on the passenger side – I tell him to get up close to it, and I rub his hands with my free one. Your fingers are fucking ice cubes, I say.

He watches my hands on his. I used to do that for my brother, he says. Daddy caught us on the roof and he got mad and he pushed Eddie hard and Eddie fell off the roof.

I take my hand back. All a sudden I want to pull over and tell him to get the fuck away from me, ‘cause I don’t want to hear that kind of shit. Listening to Carl Lee talk about his old man’s like walking on land mines.

I don’t remember stuff, he says. I’m NOT REAL BRIGHT and a STUPID IDJIT.

When he says them words he says them loud, like I guess he must have heard them.

I didn’t know who to tell about the dead people, he says. My WHORE-MOMMA has been gone a long time. I have a STUPID CUNT FOR AN AUNT in Florida, but I haven’t seen her since I was little.

He pulls over to the side of the road and says he don’t wanna drive no more; that’s fine with me, I was getting tired of being cooped up anyways and thinking maybe it was time to find us a bed someplace. But for a little bit we just sat there and there wasn’t nobody around but us and the birds, and it wasn’t none too bad at all. I almost kiss him on the head and I’m so shocked that I got to get out and stand up ‘cause I –

‘Cause I can’t do that. I just can't.

Hi birdies, Carl Lee says behind me. Goodbye, birdies.