I’ve never graduated from anything.  Well, maybe the third grade.  And the second.  And the first.  But that’s about it.  I left school after that.  I was a runaway.  I ran away to a boxcar when I was ten because my mom wouldn’t give me any cookies.

She was quiet and frail looking, but looks are often deceiving.  She was actually quite harsh, with Brillo pad hair, dull and gray and wiry.  Her temper was hot as fire and she had a mole the size of Texas behind her ear that I called Napoleon because it invaded her Brillo hair like a short man on a tall horse.  It was bizarre and made her temper explode when I mentioned it.  I loved talking about it almost as much as I loved cookies.

I attribute my lack of cookies to Napoleon.

I hate Napoleon, both the mole and the man.  And I hate Texas.  And Brillo pads.  And hair.  And anything else that reminds me of those cookies that my mom never gave me when I was ten.  They are the reasons that I ran away from home.  They are the reasons that I never graduated from anything.

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