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I’d come from. I could never have done that by myself.
    “She looks free, don’t she?” Jesse said, watching the horse.
    “She’s limping,” Dickie said. “I still say we should have waited. I heard about a girl who fell on a pencil and it went right in her chest and when they pulled it out, she bled like a fire hydrant.”
    Whether it was his upbringing or his station in life,Dickie took the glass half-empty to new levels. He knew people who had lost eyes and ears and just about every body part because of some regrettable mistake.
    “Good thing that horse doesn’t have access to a pencil sharpener,” Jesse said. “What’s that got to do with anything?”
    “That wire could have been pinching an artery,” Dickie said.
    “Look,” I said, pointing at the horse.
    The mare had turned back toward us and swayed, her hurt leg in the air. She put the injured leg down and then tumbled to the ground, headfirst, and flopped to the side.
    “Told you,” Dickie said.
    Jesse put a hand to her mouth. “Oh, the poor thing.”
    The horse lay motionless in the pasture and the three of us stared in horror.
    “You think she’s dead?” I said.
    “She probably just passed out from gratitude,” Dickie said.
    “Well, at least we did something,” I said. “And the last thing that horse ever saw was three kids trying to help her.”
    Jesse set her jaw and tears came to her eyes. “That’s not good enough. We should have been able to save her.”
    A low rumble sounded behind us and I turned to see a red Ford F-100 with a white top coming up the road.
    “OMB!” Jesse shouted.
    The truck paused near the gate, then continued slowly toward us while I tried to figure out what OMB meant.Except there was no us now. Jesse and Dickie had hit the dirt and hidden in the grass.
    “Get on your bike and get out of here,” Jesse whispered. “Hurry!”
    I paused at the edge of the drop.
    “Jump and slide down,” Dickie said. “It’s the fastest way.”
    I sat on the edge and tried to ease my way to the ground, but my weight and momentum propelled me and I landed on my stomach, air rushing from my lungs. “Ow, ow, ow,” I said, trying to get my breath. By the time I got to my feet, I was staring at Old Man Blackwood through his open window.
    “What’s your problem, kid? Can’t you read?”
    I gasped for air.
    “Speak up!”
    “No, sir. I mean, yes, sir, I can read.”
    “Then what do you think ‘No Trespassing’ means?”
    I didn’t answer because the question was rhetorical and I didn’t have air. The man had a rifle mounted in the back window of his cab. And if what Jesse had said was true, I had only seconds to live.
    “What’s your name, fatty?”
    Over the rumble of the engine I heard Jesse whisper something. Blackwood couldn’t see above the bank, couldn’t see the broken fence or the little mare bleeding out. He couldn’t see my new friends.
    “Get outta here,” Jesse hissed.
    I ran to my bike and picked it up. Blackwood pulled the truck forward, blocking my exit.
    “Whose kid are you?” Blackwood yelled. “Answer me!”
    I pushed the bike into the road and jumped on it, riding past his open window. The man cleared his throat and spat, but I didn’t stop or slow down.
    “That’s right! Get out of here, tub of lard. And don’t let me catch you here again, you hear me?”
    I pedaled fast, worried that Blackwood would follow me or run me over. I looked back once but didn’t see Jesse or Dickie.
    The death of the little mare was the first secret we promised we’d keep. It wouldn’t be our last.

MONDAY, OCTOBER 8, 1984
    I drove through the night, fueled by gas station coffee and cold Mountain Dew, the elixir of my childhood. I reached Dogwood Monday morning in time to see truckers and plant workers meeting by the interstate to share rides. There was now one stoplight in town, a sign of progress. I went past our high school and the church of my youth, a thousand questions about Jesse swirling.