Miss Mabel

“Now Miss Mabel,” Henry said, pulling his rocker closer to the fire, “she was a talker.  Miss Mabel could talk the ear off the corn.”  He nodded to himself with the memory  of it.  “Oh, yeah.  Miss Mabel liked to talk.”

He settled himself into his story as easily as he settled himself into the rocker.  “Poor old Jebediah Green, he never had two nickels to rub together, what with all those kids.  How many, Eleanor?”  Henry stopped rocking and looked over his shoulder into the kitchen.

“Thirteen, dear.”  Eleanor called.  She added sugar to the peaches and began stirring.

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Pawn

The driver pulled to the curb.  “You want me to wait?”

 “No.”  I opened the door and stepped one foot out, as if testing the temperature of the water.  “Yeah, wait,” I amended.  “Please.  Fifteen minutes, tops.”

The driver nodded and shook open his newspaper to the sports page. 

I slammed the door and passed through the gates leading to the brownstone.  The lawn was well-tended, mowed precisely and evenly.  Not a single leaf dotted the grass, despite the wind.  Late-blooming flowers churned out their colors, while those whose summer work was done had been trimmed back neatly.  Here and there small statues decorated the garden.  Eugene often joked, in better days, that they were his family.  He once told me he liked them because they didn’t talk back.

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Gifted

It was the Boy who conceived me.  He sat at a squat table swinging his legs, the laces of both shoes dangling.  His tongue stuck out at the right corner of his mouth. 

I started life as a piece of orange construction paper pressed up tightly against the other colors in the pack—green and pink and yellow and blue.  The teacher opened the pack and fanned us out upon the table.  The Boy chose me.  The Boy changed me.

The Boy cut me into what you humans call a heart.  Coated me thickly in glue.  And then, he covered me with a white paper doily and rubbed at it with his thumb to smooth out the glue.

“Mommy will love this,” he told me as he affixed two eyes crookedly to me.  The boy filled me with purpose and intent and slowly, I began to take shape.

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Depths of Winter

Lilly Cecilio takes her books to the checkout desk.  The librarian looks at her for a moment.  “I can help you here, Mrs. DeGrassi.”

Lilly frowns.  “Ellen, I was here first.”

The librarian takes Mrs. DeGrassi’s books and begins scanning them.  “Going to be a cold one tonight.  Record lows and a foot of snow at least.”

“Ellen,” Lilly said.  “I run your book sale every year.”

The librarian slides the books to Mrs. DeGrassi.   “I can help you, Mrs. DePaul.” 

 Everywhere she goes, Lilly meets with the same.  The pharmacist turns her back on her.  The salon owner spits on her shoes.   And a woman Lilly doesn’t know approaches her on the sidewalk.  “My boys’ education is in that fancy house of yours.”

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Residual Anger

“You cannot mean to raise a child here.”  Patty’s mother took a sip of her wine and grimaced before swallowing hard.

“Why not?”  That wine was expensive—for Patty.

“It’s just not a…” her mother looked around the apartment.  “…safe environment.  Or particularly clean.  Are you certain there are no bedbugs?” 

“It’s fine.  For now.  Until I can get…”

“Get me a knife, Rose.  This roast is a brick.”

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