From the day
Perspective: The Teenager · Tactile
I sit on the floorboards in my drop-waisted frock, the scratchy rayon chafing my knees as I fix the red yarn hair on my new Raggedy Andy. Pop is hushing the radio and whispering about the moonshiners getting shot down in the hills, but I just want to slip into my T-strap heels and forget the news. Everything feels hotsy-totsy when I run my fingers over the smooth silk of my cloche hat. If the feds come sniffing around our neighborhood looking for a stool pigeon, I’ll be long gone, dancing until my bobbed hair dampens with sweat.