Halloween #7

She is the strongest girl in the world.

At night, her names float in my head like wild songs: Comestibles. Delicatessa. Windowshade. Mackrelmint.

That house is empty, my mother says. Little girls are not allowed to live by themselves like that. Stop talking foolishness.

Her red hair stands out like fire. Her monkey chatters on her back.

You are too old to have imaginary friends, my mother says.

She rolls out cookies on the kitchen floor, has a treasure chest full of gold. Her father is a pirate king. She can lift her horse over her head, outrun a thousand policemen.

I'm afraid we are going to have to take you to the doctor, my mother says. The pastor visits and they have a hushed discussion behind a closed livingroom door.

She scratches at the kitchen window and grins in, her eyes sparkling with green.
I have two pistols, she says. One of them is for you.