“The rhythm of the footsteps, the sound of whatever is coming down the ladder is driving both me and my mom steadily toward peeing our pants.”
“And maybe that is where rhythm comes from, I think. Our earliest understanding of rhythm. The sound of our own breath, the beating of our own hearts.”
“If I pee my pants I am going to be so pissed.”
“I decide to release myself the only way I can imagine: I pee my pants.”
“...the sound of our lack of conversation amplified by the echo of our footsteps on the stone around us.”
“He appears beside me and hands me the gun. Guess I’m getting used to the disappearing and reappearing act of his. I only had a slight urge to pee my pants.”