Birds in the trees. I could taste blood on my lip and I immediately knew there was no way I could hide it from Mom. I thought of my cousins and wished I was eating birthday cake. I didn’t even particularly care that much for cake. I mean, it was all right, but it certainly wasn’t better than donuts or pie. Yet in that moment, that tiny, wallet-sized measurement of time, I could really go for a slice of-- “Get up, mutherfucker. I ain’t done put a hurt on you.” Déjà vu. I was halfway standing when he kicked me in the shoulder, knocking me back down. It hurt. I guess I made it to his wrong side. "No!"