Spider and I (part 3)

I was four, maybe five when my folks died. Their car smashed up pretty good, sending bent steel and broken plastic to rend and tear their bodies. They had no close relatives. After that, I bounced a bit—had a rough time. Five years old made me too old for most to adopt.

Five years old, and I was garbage tossed around to foster homes for the next few years.

I had mostly forgotten everything about my real parents except the books they'd read to me before bed. When I scrunched into one of tho...