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When I was fourteen I ate fruit bat. It was the Pavlovian inclination to be polite.
Mother said accept things graciously. Even small hairy gifts from natives. Mother did
not eat the fruit bat. I became rebellious then. Right then. With my mouth full of
hairy old socks and mold, with my mouth full of a small flying rat, I rebelled. What a
gateway drug was fruit bat. I was not gracious anymore. My hair curled. Mother said
it was the humidity, the intense humidity on the small island. Mother was not gracious
and did not discuss puberty. That would curl my hair. Puberty and fruit bat spawned
the devil child with curly hair like a harlot. I spat out fruit bat, when I was fourteen.
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