Little Delmar played his fiddle and the clean lonely sound of it filled the house.Momma called him scrawny with his skinny arms like the frame of a homemade kite and his shoulders that tilted in impossible ways. That’s what caught him and held him back that night.
After momma tucked him under the quilt, he snuck outside through the kitchen door to go to the pond and try to catch something. What he sought on these excursions varied; sometimes frogs, sometimes fireflies. Once, he snuck out to see the box of still blind kittens on the other side of the carport, near the brick pile.But that last time, momma’d locked the door and Little Delmar, forever so named, stuck his head and twisted his spine just so to go through the doggie door. He’d done it before. But momma heard him.
She grabbed the claw hammer from under her mattress and ran down the hall, her nightgown flapping like a great and terrible angel. Delmar tried backing out and got his neck caught on the heavy plastic flap. In the dark, momma threw the hammer and knocked a nice chunk of the boys’ skull out of place.