Monday, June 19, 2006
A Very Long Winter
I've washed my hands fifteen times already today. I keep thinking that today is the day I'll go outside; out the window, it looks pretty, lush and green and the sky looks like it did in that photograph Ms. Jillian showed me where she used her pair of polaroid glasses over her camera lens, bright cerulean at the top and near white at the bottom.I haven't quite gotten up the courage, yet. I can't tell the temperature from a peek, and I haven't got the guts to go touch the pane. (It's dirty.) If it's cold it's not worth catching now, is it? My Emery, he caught his death out on a spring day like this one, just less than a year ago, and he never listened once to what I told him about the dirt on the sill, how the pill-bugs like to roll up in it. Who knows what filth a pill-bug gets involved in. Who really knows?
Just one moment.
* * *
I apologize for that. It was my daughter, Beverly, calling to see what's what. I tell her what usually is, and she titters - she's got a nervous laugh, my daughter. I think she might have one of those "type A personalities" they talked about on the television, back when I watched it. It'll be the death of her. I ask her how she is whenever she calls, and she always says, "Fine, Ma - a little stressed, but fine." And it'll be the death of her, mark my words.
She wanted to know if I'd come for a picnic down at Elm park. "It'll do you good to get some fresh air, Ma," she tells me, like I don't know my business. Fool girl.
Still, it would be nice to take in a bit of sun. Bother all - perhaps I'll take a bit of a nap instead.
* * *
I couldn't sleep. I believe this "type A" business Bev's got is contagious, as I'm fidgety as all get-out, and I lay there and my leg cramped like I was still a growing girl. I sat up and watched in the mirror for a second, and then I went to call Bev from the drawing room but the phone rang just before I was going to pick it up, which startled me. It was Beverly, of course. It's funny how things happen like that.
She told me she's sent a package, but I'll have to sign for it at the door. Girl doesn't know about the boys that operate these delivery joints these days. She was as like as not to get me robbed, and I told her so.
"It's Tiffany glass, Ma," Bev told me.
I was quiet for a moment. "Your father used to get me Tiffany glass for occasions," I said. My lips got all papery - they feel that way just a bit now, too.
"I know, Ma."
I hung up the receiver slow, and I went to sit on the davenport in the drawing room there, and I put my elbows on my knees like I was a girl younger than Bev again. I sat there for just near an hour, waiting on that delivery man and the box, the box with the Tiffany glass just like Emery used to get me. And then I thought what a fool notion it was, to sit about, waiting all day for a delivery man, and I got up, and just then there was the bell.
I looked through the peephole, just to be safe, and I kept the chain on when he slipped the clipboard through. But that tiny crack of outside got let in, and even after the delivery man saluted (saluted!) and walked off, leaving the box of lovely Tiffany glass sitting there on my stoop, I left the door open with the chain on still. And there was just this bit of breeze, and a little spot of warm on the back of my hand where the light leaked through the big oak out front.
It's been a long time since there was a day this nice, you know. I took the chain off and brought in the box with my Tiffany glass, and set it out of the path where I wouldn't trip, and then I stood there in my doorway for a whole minute, or maybe even more.
I think I'm going to go call Bev now. I think a picnic might be a bit overdue.
[Erica asks: Does the word have to be in the piece, or can it just be thematically linked to the word?]
I couldn't sleep. I believe this "type A" business Bev's got is contagious, as I'm fidgety as all get-out, and I lay there and my leg cramped like I was still a growing girl. I sat up and watched in the mirror for a second, and then I went to call Bev from the drawing room but the phone rang just before I was going to pick it up, which startled me. It was Beverly, of course. It's funny how things happen like that.
She told me she's sent a package, but I'll have to sign for it at the door. Girl doesn't know about the boys that operate these delivery joints these days. She was as like as not to get me robbed, and I told her so.
"It's Tiffany glass, Ma," Bev told me.
I was quiet for a moment. "Your father used to get me Tiffany glass for occasions," I said. My lips got all papery - they feel that way just a bit now, too.
"I know, Ma."
I hung up the receiver slow, and I went to sit on the davenport in the drawing room there, and I put my elbows on my knees like I was a girl younger than Bev again. I sat there for just near an hour, waiting on that delivery man and the box, the box with the Tiffany glass just like Emery used to get me. And then I thought what a fool notion it was, to sit about, waiting all day for a delivery man, and I got up, and just then there was the bell.
I looked through the peephole, just to be safe, and I kept the chain on when he slipped the clipboard through. But that tiny crack of outside got let in, and even after the delivery man saluted (saluted!) and walked off, leaving the box of lovely Tiffany glass sitting there on my stoop, I left the door open with the chain on still. And there was just this bit of breeze, and a little spot of warm on the back of my hand where the light leaked through the big oak out front.
It's been a long time since there was a day this nice, you know. I took the chain off and brought in the box with my Tiffany glass, and set it out of the path where I wouldn't trip, and then I stood there in my doorway for a whole minute, or maybe even more.
I think I'm going to go call Bev now. I think a picnic might be a bit overdue.
[Erica asks: Does the word have to be in the piece, or can it just be thematically linked to the word?]
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