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cast on.
The doctor came in after Momma smoked her fifth cigarette and Nurse Footsmell was replaced by Miss Nosehair. Nosehair had soft hands to pet me with, a sweet voice that cooed like she was just a little too close to me, even though we are strangers, nose hair that I could've braided and breath that could've gagged a maggot.

"Mr. Sherman." He said it and I got excited and looked around for Dad. When I realized the doctor was talking to me and that Dad hadn't made it back, that was okay 'cause it was the first time anyone ever called me Mister.

"Yes, sir?" I sat up.

"What have we done to our arm here?" He asked the question directly to Momma, not me, picking up my broken wing, making eyes at Momma who couldn't take her eyes off me. I wanted to say "we" haven't done anything to it. I broke it and I sure don't see swollen knots on your arm and your face isn't stained with tears and your shirt isn't cut half off by the school nurse, so don't say "we" have done anything together, butthead.

But I didn't say anything other than tell him how I broke it when I got pushed down the stairs at school. He put a big white cast on from just above my elbow to my wrist, showed Momma how to tie my sling and gave her some pain pills that I'm supposed to use to fall asleep at night until it no longer hurts, which I sure hope will be soon 'cause it's embarassing for a grown man to cry like this.

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