[dropcap]C[/dropcap]harlie always smelled bad, and he had oily hair. He never bathed, and neither did any of his six sisters or brothers. They were perpetually filthy, their clothes ragged. People looked down on Charlie because his daddy worked in a factory. Charlie’s older brothers, who’d all dropped out of school, worked in the same plant.

And that, by God, was life.

I only ever saw Charlie on Sundays. His family would sit in front of my family at church every week. His daddy wore the same outdated suit, and he’d bellow hymns like his hair was on fire. Charlie’s quiet mother barely moved her mouth at all to sing. Charlie’s older sister, who was far too pretty to be wearing that patched-up dress, would sing while rocking her baby brother on her hip.