The mess on her face becomes even more complicatedfrom it. ?no, no, no, please, Ray, please I?m begging you, please,have heart, think of your mother,...please, please?? I feel theanger build in me and it?s a good feeling. ?You leavemy mother out of this, slut!!!? I scream as loud as Billy used to. ?You hearme??? Eh? Leave my mother out of this!!! She?s not a whore like you, Susan!!She?s not a dirty cumslut like you!!!? I push herface down to the sofa. I can?t take it for much longer,the pressure. You see—the person everyone called Aunt Bessie—Well, I called her Mom.The Winter of 1938Winters in the Midwest are always bitter cold. That winter we were eking out a hard-bitten existence. Fortunately, all summer long we had cut and stacked firewood down one side of our old house, so we stayed warm and cozy.In addition, my mother, like every other year, had spent the summer canning hundreds of Mason jars filled with beans, tomatoes, peaches, and other items.Anyway, on a bitter cold windy. More

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