SoC 3:1

Uncle Bo

 

M amma has always wanted things she couldn’t have. Luckily for us, wanting is as far as it went.

My Uncle, however, is another story.

Uncle Bo took what he wanted, when he wanted. Mamma always said he was the rotten apple.

“My family is like fermenting cider; sweet, always growing and very very strong.” She’d say.

Uncle Bo never said a bad word to me; though Mamma made sure I didn’t spend a lot of time with him.

“When two apples rub together, they ripen faster, but when one’s bad, the rot spreads.” She’d tell me.

I can’t help but feel pity for Uncle Bo as I stare at him standing beside the judge while the list of charges against him are read. He smiles, and then winks reassuringly at me.

I wave goodbye as he’s marched away, and led down stairs into the floor below.

“He got mixed with the wrong apples.” Mamma tells me.

“What is a child molester?” I ask.