he Ford chugged along Highway 80. The quiet between Birda and me was dense with unspoken thoughts. I forced myself to look out of the car window. Pastures with cows grazing, inclining shanties like our own, stately white clapboard houses, and occasional patches of tall, straight pines zipped by. I had seen them all many times during drives from Crawford to Columbus, Ga., but any view was better than looking down at my skirt starched stiff with dried blood. In the distance, I saw a man walking on the side of the road with shoulders slumped forward and hands jutted into the pockets of his sagging pants. Birda slowed the car then stopped. It was Yik-Yak, a homeless wanderer who did odd jobs for food and liquor.

I hunkered forward and Yik-Yak climbed into the back seat. The movement caused my head to throb. The small space filled with the funk of musk and whiskey; the kind that oozes from the pores. There was another pungent, suffocating smell. Urine. I tried to breathe shallow, but I began to feel lightheaded. Yik-Yak gripped the back of my seat and pulled himself forward. I squeezed my eyes shut and endured the pain in my head.

“Gal, howcome yo haid all swole up like a melon? Lawdy, look at that blood on your clothes. I done seen pigs bleed out like that after I stuck em in the neck for the slaughter.”

I said nothing. Birda kept driving. Again, silence pervaded until there was a soft thud under the car. Yik-Yak yelled suddenly.

“Stop this car!”

The urgency in his voice bordered hysteria. My heartbeat quickened. The throbbing in my head was nearly unbearable. Birda brought the car to a screeching stop. Yik-Yak pushed my seat forward to get out. Again, what felt like huge lead marbles shifted in my head and beat against my skull. Yik-Yak looked at me in disbelief.

“That’s a possum ya'll done hit. Don’t ya'll know you don’t let good meat like that go to waste!”

He got out of the car and rolled the dead possum over with his foot and poked at its swollen belly. He swore.

“Damn! Hit’s full of babies. That meat, hit’s ruined. Cain’t fool wit no possum fulla babies.”

Yik-Yak started toward the car, but I slammed the door as he reached for the handle. Birda put the car in gear and peeled off down the highway. Other than taking me to the hospital that morning, it was the most merciful thing I could remember my mother doing for me in my entire life.