Chapter 3

(Note: the story below is written just as told to us by Emma. It is told in the first person as she related it to us.)

I was twelve when I went with my mom to visit my aunt. Aunt Lucy had two sons; Eric was twelve, like me, and Andy was fourteen.

They lived on a farm and we were playing near a barn at the back of the property.

We were playing Cowboys and Indians. I remember thinking that we were all too old for that, but it was nice to have anyone to play with. I didn’t really have a lot of friends.

Anyway, they were chasing me and trying to catch me. I was already kinda heavy by that point and they were both pretty fit so I didn’t stand much of a chance. It was the usual kid horseplay and Eric caught me, tackling me to the ground.

“I got her, Pilgrim!” he said in a pretty poor cowboy drawl.

“Ok, pard,” Andy said in his equally lame impression. “Let’s locks up this here Indian Princess.”

Eric stood me up, holding my arms behind me. I thought nothing of it at this point as he led me into the barn.

“Kneel down there, Princess,” Andy said, pointing to the base of a post in the barn. I did, Eric still holding me tight. Andy grabbed some rope from a shelf and went in back of me, binding my hands around the post behind me. I tugged on them a bit; sure enough, they were snug.

“Well now, Princess, what do you have to say for yourself?” He said, standing over me with his hands on his hips. I decided to play along.

“You will never get rid of us! My tribe will come to save me and slaughter you both!” I didn’t bother with a fake accent, but I felt my acting was pretty good. I thrashed against the bonds for effect.

“Is that so?” he said. “So, they’re going to come and save you from this?” He bent down and tickled my sides viciously.

I burst out laughing and tried to pull away from his fingers but to no avail. He tickled me for a full thirty seconds until I was gasping for air.

“Ok, ok! I surrender!” I said, still struggling to breathe.

“That’s what I thought!” Andy said. He dropped down to the ground in front of me in a kneeling position of his own. And then things got uncomfortable.

“You make a cute Indian, Emma,” he said, much more quietly and with no accent anymore. He smiled at me and moved my hair out of my face. I was caught off guard by his comment. No one had called me cute before; besides my mom, of course.