I saw a small boy with red hair
in a white shirt at church.
Rather, I saw the back of his head.
I never saw his face.
But that red hair was
very distinctive.
Walking down the hall
after Sunday School
I saw that same red-headed
boy again.
Only, he was wearing a
black and white gingham
dress. Maybe it was his
sister.
I stopped and smiled at him.
He looked up at me with a
solemn frown on his face.
A lot of kids get that frown
after a long church service.
I needed to hear his voice,
or her voice,
to decide if this was
a boy or girl.
"That's pretty bright red
hair you've got there" I
told him. Or her.
"My father's a Marine"
he replied in a voice
unmistakably male.
Then I knew him.
The Bledsoe family.
They lived down the street from
me. The father was never home and
the mother seemed to have over a
dozen kids running around the place
all the time.
"Your mother runs a daycare, right?"
I asked him, feeling loutish.
In reply he handed me a stiff
white card and walked away.
The card read: "No Reply."
When I looked up the kid was gone.
Vanished.
In fact, when I looked up
I was not longer in church.
I was at a marine base somewhere
down South. I could smell
the turpentine stills.
"Hey Sergeant!" yelled a man
I recognized as Mr. Bledsoe.
He was in uniform.
He walked towards me.
"We got another one!"
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