Saying Goodbye or Something

I had a sister, but she ran away. After the house fire, the one that burned up my mom and dad, she up and fucked off with a guy who had a Pontiac Firebird and a birthmark on his forehead. The reason I’m telling you this is cause I think the guy on the bus reading the National Geographic was the guy who fucked off with my sister. I know I said that it was the first time I saw him, that time on the bus, but I could be mistaken. I make lots of mistakes, some bigger, and some just little ones that really don’t count as mistakes at all, but are just sort of slips of mind or thought or something. The way I see it if it was him he wasn’t driving a car, and if he was, or even had a car, it most probably wouldn’t be a Firebird, on account of the fact that they fucked them up, made ‘em all round-looking and cheap, and a guy like that, with dagger tattoos, wouldn’t be caught dead in a round cheap-looking car. Come to think of it one a those carryalls wouldn’t likely fit in the back trunk of one of these newer cars, on account of that the trunks are so small you can’t even put a full grocery order in one. I suppose the Japanese buy smaller groceries, and that ways don’t need a bigger back trunk for to put them in. Anyhow she up and fucked off and never did stop long enough to say goodbye or anything like that. Not that I would have expected it, that she say anything, really, but the thought might have been nice, or at least the idea of saying goodbye or something along those lines. The social worker, the one that came after my mom and dad burned up in the house fire, asked me if I wanted to live with my aunt, my mom’s sister, or my granddaddy and grandmamma. On account of the fact I didn’t know how to play pinochle, which is all my aunt did, I picked my grandparents, and on account of the fact your grandparents tend to treat you better than your aunt does. My grandmamma played Gin, my granddad Hearts, so I figured they’d be easier to learn, maybe that’s why, but I could be mixed up, I guess.