We put the mailman out the window feet-first, with Robby standing in the stubble of the back yard on a bucket and me on a chair inside lifting the guy by his armpits. He was still sweating. His face kept pressing up against my belly the whole time, so his mouth would gape in his white face, like he was snoring. Each time I wedged it back shut with my forearms. The guy's teeth were like little bits of hominy, all gristly, the back ones with black fillings like moldering peas.We got him through that window good and then I stood there, on the chair, looking at Robby panting. The smell of dust was in the air from the metal sill. The mailman was on the ground, and Robby kicked him.
"Here," he said. He wiped his brow with the back of his arm and then held out his hand.
I took his hand with mine and vaulted through with my other hand on the sill below me. I felt the chair kick out from my feet and had memories from TV of hangman, of suicides. The sill cut into my hand. The air was fresh when I was moving through it.