By Jeff Switt
When I misalign my teeth I hear electric noises. Not like the hum of a motor running, but the popping of an arc welder like my daddy used in the garage when he made things.
One summer he made a cage from discarded pieces of rebar and oilfield sucker rod and angle iron. His T-shirt smelled of August and burned flesh. Some nights when he got shit-faced, he would push me inside the cage and threaten to weld the door shut.
When I am afraid, I imagine I am back in that cage, the door welded shut, and I feel safe.
Poweful, vivid writing. But the ending, to me, was confounding. Why safe?
Maybe, it is the safety in the familiar.