My Cardboard Balcony

The Banjo by Belinda Roddie The banjo played three notes over and over all by itself. Joey heard its plaintive plunking and promptly wet himself in terror.

I swing my arm from the branch and lift myself onto the rotting tree house planks, their sighs and screams muffled by my lackluster girth. The air picks up around my face and stings at every clogged pore and every blemish I get to show off to the world. My nephew, Timothy, is playing basketball with my cousins below. The concrete is dry and scarred, and I don't want to climb down.