June 19, 2025

Sarah the Duck. This is also nothing, but rather than yesterday, I think I see where it could go.

When Sarah was six years old, she stole a duck. It was a baby. She grabbed it as it paddled behind its mother and siblings through the reeds growing along the shore of the river behind her grandma’s house. Just scooped it up and took it to the back door.

Six-year-old Sarah stole a duckling from its mother, who didn’t seem to notice. Sarah put in on the kitchen floor and said, “Your name is Sarah.”

Sarah the Duck squacked and flapped and slapped its feet on the linoleum, desperately trying to understand its new condition.

When Grandma came into the kitchen to see what the hubbub was, Sarah the Duck was frantically returned to the river, though if it was returned to its mother is a matter for speculation.

If she had been punished for the crime, Sarah couldn’t remember, as she sat at the bank, waiting for the chubby man in the ugly tie to say if she’d be able to eat next week. It wasn’t the time for such a bad memory. Bad memories were piling up. She didn’t need more, but she did need this loan.

The man was checking math with his supervisor.

Sarah poked around on her phone, not doing anything in particular, but keeping her duck-napping hands busy.