I Stole Raspberries from the Neighbour’s Garden, and the Next Day My Dog was Dead

I am 10 years old and madly smelling the throw pillows on our living room sofa. My brother Dustin is trailing me, excitedly lisping, “That thmell, Lindth, I know it from thomwhere!” My brother and I are the exact opposite of latchkey kids. Mom does everything for us. She makes us elaborate breakfasts before we catch the school bus. After scarfing down our pancakes, eggs, or toast with homemade jam, she’ll hand us paper bag lunches with little notes tucked inside, telling us to have a great day. I don’t know what Mom does while Dustin and I are at school. Presumably, she sits twiddling her thumbs, awaiting our arrival home. Mom always has a vast spread of fresh-cut veggies and fruit ready and waiting on the kitchen table for our after-school snack. But not today. Today, as we walk in our front door, Mom is nowhere to be found. Immediately, both my brother and I are shaken by this development. What? Mom’s gone? Well, where the hell could she be? How is she not here, and we are here? What could be more important than us? “Auntie Deb!” Dustin yells. “That’th the thmell of her perfume.” I know this to be true as soon as he says the words. Mom is with Auntie Deb somewhere. <a href="https://medium.com/get-inside/i-stole-raspberries-from-the-neighbours-garden-and-the-next-day-my-dog-was-dead-c9ec3d5e6bbd">Website</a>