He was a quiet, unassuming child. We never heard from him unless Katrina wanted us to. I remember when we lived in Greensboro, Paint used to go bowling with us. I never paid much attention to him. When we decided to move from Greensboro to Stedman, Paint followed. Again, I didn't pay it much thought. I was too busy raising my own and other people's children to pay attention to this child named Paint. He was Katrina's friend. One night, everyone was over eating dinner and having a good time. Katrina came out of her room and informed us that we needed to be quiet or Paint would make us. I wasn't even aware that he was at the house. We all got really quiet. Katrina stomped in to her room and shut the door. My dad said that if someone came out of Katrina's room, he was leaving.
Katrina showed me where Paint lived once. A small, white house on Baywood Rd. Really rather unassuming, again I didn't give it much thought. Katrina was always talking about Paint.
One day she stopped talking about Paint. I don't remember when she stopped or how long it took me to notice. I asked her finally what had ever happened to her friend Paint. She told me, very seriously, that his mother had killed him.
I paid attention then.
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