3. My Palomino Stallion (cont.)

Two women sat on one of the porches on the other side of the street and down a house or two. They were watching me and frowning, just like the houses. And not only were they watching and frowning, they were talking about me. And not only were they talking, but I knew exactly what they were saying.

“Just look at that little girl!” they were saying to one another. “What a dirty thing she is, holding that broom between her legs that way.”

“Dirty minds,” I flashed back to them in the same silent way they had signaled me. “Dirty, dirty minds! Can’t you tell I’m riding a horse?”

Nonetheless, the disapproval I felt oozing from them had spoiled my game. I turned my golden stallion and galloped along the side of the house to the backyard where their gaze could not follow. Not even the frowning houses could see to disapprove of me here.