If you've never read Dirty Red, do it now: The neighborhood has low rent and no trees, a leaky bucket of a place where dreams seem to run right on through. Dirty Red's mother pries the boy's fingers from the hem of her dress and tells him a hundredth time: "Baby, it's okay to play."
Dirty Red knows if he goes outside children will call him names and punch and pinch him, like the day before and the day before that. To please his mother he walks outside, but instead of going to play he doubles back up the stairs and sits just outside the closed door.
Dirty Red can't face the neighborhood, not today. He curls up in a ball on the concrete steps and sticks a thumb in his mouth. People step over him like litter.
"They don't like me," he said.
It started May 20, 1990, when the police car came and took Red away for a crime he didn't do. It was just another dirty sex crime, but this time the suspect was reaching for his momma as they took him away. This time, the arrest left an empty desk at Peters Elementary kindergarten class.
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