The Smoky Corridor

114

The eight-year-old girl in the yellow head scarf marched into the school, went left, toward the cafeteria, headed down a flight of steps, and entered the janitor’s closet.

She had never been in the building before.

In fact, she had never journeyed beyond the borders of Louisiana.

But she knew exactly where she was going.

“Joc-a-mo-fee-no-ah-nah-nay,” she mumbled. “Joc-a-mo-fee-nah-nay.”