"I have a headache."
"Should I fetch you some aspirin?"
Mammy massaged her temples. "Maybe later. Is your father home?"
"It's only three."
"Oh. Right. You said that already." Mammy yawned. "I was dreaming just now," she said,
her voice only a bit louder than the rustle of her nightgown against the sheets. "Just now,
before you came in. But I can't remember it now. Does that happen to you?"
"It happens to everybody, Mammy."
"Strangest thing."
"I should tell you that while you were dreaming, a boy shot piss out of a water gun on my
hair."
"Shot what? What was that? I'm sorry."
"Piss. Urine."
"That's...that's terrible. God I'm sorry. Poor you. I'll have a talk with him first thing in the
morning. Or maybe with his mother. Yes, that would be better, I think."
"I haven't told you who it was."
"Oh. Well, who was it?"
"Never mind."
"You're angry."
"You were supposed to pick me up."
"I was," Mammy croaked. Laila could not tell whether this was a question. Mammy began
picking at her hair. This was one of life's great mysteries to Laila, that Mammy's picking
had not made her bald as an egg. "What about...What's his name, your friend, Tariq? Yes,
what about him?"
"He's been gone for a week."
"Oh." Mammy sighed through her nose. "Did you wash?"
"Yes."