He knew right where it happened because he had been there already. It wasn't far from our house so he took me there. I wanted to see it.
As we walked by each house, the roar of its central air conditioner grew louder and then subsided as we passed. There was one house that had a red square with a white hand painted in the middle hanging over the garage door. That was a "helping hand" house and it meant that you were supposed to go to there if you were lost or in trouble.
There weren't any trees, the neighborhood just cooked in the sun. It was always hot there except on one Christmas day when I remember getting a big snowstorm.
"This is where the little girl got hit.... See? The car dragged her down to here. See? " He announced proudly.
There was still some sort of mark on the ground and some skid marks.
"She died. Did you know her?" he asked me.
I didn't answer. I just looked for some hint that it had really happened.
"She was your age, in your grade too. Did you know her?" he asked.
I shook my head and mumbled "no".
I looked around. It didn't seem like it could have really happened right there. There were just some tire tracks on the grass and some skid marks. I didn't see any blood.
"Shouldn't there be blood?" I asked him.
"They must have cleaned it up cuz we saw it yesterday." he answered.
We walked up the street a little more and there was the house.
"There is the house they crashed into after they ran over the little girl." he announced again like he knew everything.
It was a mess. The car wasn't there but the house looked just like a house should after a car drives into it. The divider between the garage doors was gone and the house was sagging a little.
"Her guts were smeared on a board in the garage," he said.
I looked but I couldn't see any guts. I'm not sure I believed him.
We went home. It was early summer and the lawns were already burnt into their summer brown. It was so hot.
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