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- Даниэл Киз
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I
think
it
’
s
a
good
thing
about
finding
out
how
every
body
laughs
at
me
.
I
thought
about
it
a
lot
.
It
’
s
because
I
’
m
so
dumb
and
I
don
’
t
even
know
when
I
’
m
doing
some
thing
dumb
.
People
think
it
’
s
funny
when
a
dumb
person
can
’
t
do
things
the
same
way
they
can
.
Anyway
,
now
I
know
I
’
m
getting
a
little
smarter
every
day
.
I
know
punctuation
,
and
I
can
spell
good
.
I
like
to
look
up
all
the
hard
words
in
the
dictionary
and
I
remem
ber
them
.
And
I
try
to
write
these
progress
reports
very
careful
but
that
’
s
hard
to
do
.
I
am
reading
a
lot
now
,
and
Miss
Kinnian
says
I
read
very
fast
.
And
I
even
understand
a
lot
of
the
things
I
’
m
reading
about
,
and
they
stay
in
my
mind
.
There
are
times
when
I
can
close
my
eyes
and
think
of
a
page
and
it
all
comes
back
like
a
picture
.
But
other
things
come
into
my
head
too
.
Sometimes
I
close
my
eyes
and
I
see
a
clear
picture
.
Like
this
morning
just
after
I
woke
up
,
I
was
laying
in
bed
with
my
eyes
open
.
It
was
like
a
big
hole
opened
up
in
the
walls
of
my
mind
and
I
can
just
walk
through
.
I
think
its
far
back
.
.
.
a
long
time
ago
when
I
first
started
working
at
Donner
’
s
Bakery
.
I
see
the
street
where
the
bakery
is
.
Fuzzy
at
first
and
then
it
gets
patchy
with
some
things
so
real
they
are
right
here
now
in
front
of
me
,
and
other
things
stay
blurred
,
and
I
’
m
not
sure
.
.
.
.
A
little
old
man
with
a
baby
carriage
made
into
a
pushcart
with
a
charcoal
burner
,
and
the
smell
of
roast
ing
chestnuts
,
and
snow
on
the
ground
.
A
young
fellow
,
skinny
with
wide
eyes
and
a
scared
look
on
his
face
look
ing
up
at
the
store
sign
.
What
does
it
say
?
Blurred
letters
in
a
way
that
don
’
t
make
sense
.
I
know
now
that
the
sign
says
donner
’
s
bakery
,
but
looking
back
in
my
memory
at
the
sign
I
can
’
t
read
the
words
through
his
eyes
.
None
of
the
signs
make
sense
.
I
think
that
fellow
with
the
scared
look
on
his
face
is
me
.
Bright
neon
lights
.
Christmas
trees
and
sidewalk
peddlers
.
People
bundled
in
coats
with
collars
up
and
scarves
around
their
necks
.
But
he
has
no
gloves
.
His
hands
are
cold
and
he
puts
down
a
heavy
bundle
of
brown
paper
bags
.
He
’
s
stopping
to
watch
the
little
mechanical
toys
that
the
peddler
winds
up
—
the
tumbling
bear
,
the
dog
jump
ing
,
the
seal
spinning
a
ball
on
its
nose
.
Tumbling
,
jump
ing
,
spinning
.
If
he
had
all
those
toys
for
himself
he
would
be
the
happiest
person
in
the
world
.
He
wants
to
ask
the
red
-
faced
peddler
,
with
his
fingers
sticking
through
the
brown
cotton
gloves
,
if
he
can
hold
the
tumbling
bear
for
a
minute
,
but
he
is
afraid
.
He
picks
up
the
bundle
of
paper
bags
and
puts
it
on
his
shoulder
.
He
is
skinny
but
he
is
strong
from
many
years
of
hard
work
"
Charlie
!
Charlie
!
.
.
.
fat
head
barley
!
"
Children
circle
around
him
laughing
and
teasing
him
like
little
dogs
snapping
at
his
feet
.
Charlie
smiles
at
them
.
He
would
like
to
put
down
his
bundle
and
play
games
with
them
,
but
when
he
thinks
about
it
the
skin
on
his
back
twitches
and
he
feels
the
way
the
older
boys
throw
things
at
him
.
Coming
back
to
the
bakery
he
sees
some
boys
stand
ing
in
the
door
of
a
dark
hallway
.
