They sat at the table and drank. When my sobbing slowed, I heard Earl Foster’s voice again.

“Angelina, honey, you snaggle-­crotch whore, when you’re through with all that pissin’ and moanin’, you might want to shut the car door. You wear down that Pontiac’s battery and we might be here a real long time together. And you smell too bad for that.”

I wiped my face on my sleeve and stood up. I got back into the driver’s seat and slammed the door. What had happened to my mind? Why couldn’t I think?

Seconds later, the door opened again with an explosion of light and sound and Earl jerked me out and pulled me to him. He held me tightly against his wretched body; with one hand he pulled on my hair until my face came up, and then those beery lips came down on mine and his disgusting tongue slithered into my mouth and his whisker stubble rasped my skin.

All my muscles went slack. This is what it is to die, I thought. And then the roiling within me boiled up and out. Some primal force that Earl had un­leashed by violating my soul with his filth rebelled and took control. I remember only the yell, not a scream, but a deep-­throated bellow that came from way down in my guts. It surprised me more than anything else. I’d never known I was capable of that kind of sound.

Earl flew backward, as if flung.

In the light of the open car door, I saw him take tentative steps backward, then trip over a clump of scrub and land on his back. In the eye of my memory, he gets closer, so I must have approached him, al­though I can’t exactly recall. I can only remember how good it felt to be taken care of—to have relin­quished control—to know I had to do nothing but watch the drama as it unfolded.

I remember an expression of terror on Earl’s pitiful face as he scrabbled back, trying to escape me. I remember the feeling of satisfaction mixed with puzzlement. I remember almost being able to grasp that elusive melody that had followed me all my life.

And then my memory fails me completely.

J.C. “JUICE” WICKERS: “So don’t rush me, okay?

“So we took her to our personal drinkin’ place. She was only too eager to go with us. And we get there and commence to drinkin’.

“Earl Foster, he gets a bit of a load on, and he’s a little pissed that she don’t join us and be sociable, she’s just sittin’ in the car poutin’. So he goes to get her out, come join us, have a few beers, tell a few jokes, you know?