the truth
and not telling it. “Can I have a can of tuna fish Granma? And a dish of milk?”
“Tuna
and…,” she repeats, then she runs out of steam.
So
I get both of those things and I take first one to the kittens then the other.
They’re so cute I can hardly bear it and now I don’t have to pen them up until
we’re done playing. But Granma calls me in for a bath cause we are going
shopping it being Saturday and Granma says I look like I rolled around in a
pig-pen.
So
pretty soon I am in the shallow bath with a Wonder Bread wrapper over my arm
and she leaves the plug out and I lay back and she puts pitchers of water over
my hair. She is saying she might call the dog-catcher to come get those kittens
and I am feeling mad and sad all at once. “You can’t do that,” I’m saying,
though I hardly look at her cause I am heavy-hearted.
“You’re
getting attached already and we are not keeping four cats. They will soon be
twenty-four.”
“No
ma’am,” I say, meaning they won’t be twenty-four. They’re just babies.
“Your
daddy would not like you holding cats that could have worms Georgia Christine.”
She pours another load of water over my hair and it creeps onto my forehead and
I have my eyes shut tight.
She
is sure bringing up Daddy a lot today, like the cats got her going. She sets
the pitcher on the side of the tub and gets up off her knees and they crack a
couple of times and she seems to barely make it. She uses two words, lumbago
and rheumatism. And headache so that’s three.
“Well
we don’t have to tell him,” I suggest wiping the dry washrag she hands me over
my face. It’s just a possibility is what I mean.
She
leaves the room and comes back with a big fluffy towel which she holds out for
me. Another is under her arm for my hair. I get out and she wraps the towel
around me then I bend over and she wraps my hair then I flip back my head and I
look like the maharushie. That’s what I call it. She takes the Wonder Bread
wrapper off my arm and she’s drying me all over. “Well that’s a sight better.”
I
take the towel and wrap up again and run to my room while she scrubs out the
tub. I know I left a ring.
I
get my favorite underpants with the pink ruffle around the back and my pink
Keds and my cut offs and my sleeveless blouse with the little blue dogs on it.
Well
Granma isn’t going to roll my hair cause it takes forever and ever and I’m not
going to the store in curlers, no way. I’m going to let it be long and dry in
the sun, and just that quick I think of Easy touching my hair so many times
cause it blew all over him, like an octopus might, but that don’t make sense
cause an octopus can’t blow around like my hair.
I
am smiling so big thinking about what a friend he is. He’s my friend now.
So Granma comes in and
she’s pulling the sheets off my bed cause I slept on them dirty.
“Abigail
May says her Mama wants to take her to Florida,” I say.
She
keeps bustling around my bed. Maybe now she doesn’t want to look at me.
“Granma?”
“Well
I don’t know about that,” she says. “Guess we’ll wait and see.”
“I
don’t want her to go,” I say right away.
“Course
you don’t. Remember Abigail’s mother said this before and nothing came of it,”
she says putting my sheets in the basket for washing.
“How
old were you when you met Grampa?” I ask her.
“I
was twelve.”
“I’ll
be ten years old in two weeks. Two handfuls.”
“Yes
you will.”
I
lie on my bed and try not to think of Easy and I say, “Tell me that story how
you met him.” I mean Grampa.
She
sits next to me and takes the brush and I get in front of her and sit pretzel
style and she starts to brush my hair. “Well…he was the new teacher and they
introduced him in front of the church. Most handsome man I ever saw. Looked a
lot like Anthony Perkins.”
“Not
when he played Norman Bates,” I say because that’s what we already figured out
when she tells this
and not telling it. “Can I have a can of tuna fish Granma? And a dish of milk?”
“Tuna
and…,” she repeats, then she runs out of steam.
So
I get both of those things and I take first one to the kittens then the other.
They’re so cute I can hardly bear it and now I don’t have to pen them up until
we’re done playing. But Granma calls me in for a bath cause we are going
shopping it being Saturday and Granma says I look like I rolled around in a
pig-pen.
So
pretty soon I am in the shallow bath with a Wonder Bread wrapper over my arm
and she leaves the plug out and I lay back and she puts pitchers of water over
my hair. She is saying she might call the dog-catcher to come get those kittens
and I am feeling mad and sad all at once. “You can’t do that,” I’m saying,
though I hardly look at her cause I am heavy-hearted.
“You’re
getting attached already and we are not keeping four cats. They will soon be
twenty-four.”
“No
ma’am,” I say, meaning they won’t be twenty-four. They’re just babies.
“Your
daddy would not like you holding cats that could have worms Georgia Christine.”
She pours another load of water over my hair and it creeps onto my forehead and
I have my eyes shut tight.
She
is sure bringing up Daddy a lot today, like the cats got her going. She sets
the pitcher on the side of the tub and gets up off her knees and they crack a
couple of times and she seems to barely make it. She uses two words, lumbago
and rheumatism. And headache so that’s three.
“Well
we don’t have to tell him,” I suggest wiping the dry washrag she hands me over
my face. It’s just a possibility is what I mean.
She
leaves the room and comes back with a big fluffy towel which she holds out for
me. Another is under her arm for my hair. I get out and she wraps the towel
around me then I bend over and she wraps my hair then I flip back my head and I
look like the maharushie. That’s what I call it. She takes the Wonder Bread
wrapper off my arm and she’s drying me all over. “Well that’s a sight better.”
I
take the towel and wrap up again and run to my room while she scrubs out the
tub. I know I left a ring.
I
get my favorite underpants with the pink ruffle around the back and my pink
Keds and my cut offs and my sleeveless blouse with the little blue dogs on it.
Well
Granma isn’t going to roll my hair cause it takes forever and ever and I’m not
going to the store in curlers, no way. I’m going to let it be long and dry in
the sun, and just that quick I think of Easy touching my hair so many times
cause it blew all over him, like an octopus might, but that don’t make sense
cause an octopus can’t blow around like my hair.
I
am smiling so big thinking about what a friend he is. He’s my friend now.
So Granma comes in and
she’s pulling the sheets off my bed cause I slept on them dirty.
“Abigail
May says her Mama wants to take her to Florida,” I say.
She
keeps bustling around my bed. Maybe now she doesn’t want to look at me.
“Granma?”
“Well
I don’t know about that,” she says. “Guess we’ll wait and see.”
“I
don’t want her to go,” I say right away.
“Course
you don’t. Remember Abigail’s mother said this before and nothing came of it,”
she says putting my sheets in the basket for washing.
“How
old were you when you met Grampa?” I ask her.
“I
was twelve.”
“I’ll
be ten years old in two weeks. Two handfuls.”
“Yes
you will.”
I
lie on my bed and try not to think of Easy and I say, “Tell me that story how
you met him.” I mean Grampa.
She
sits next to me and takes the brush and I get in front of her and sit pretzel
style and she starts to brush my hair. “Well…he was the new teacher and they
introduced him in front of the church. Most handsome man I ever saw. Looked a
lot like Anthony Perkins.”
“Not
when he played Norman Bates,” I say because that’s what we already figured out
when she tells this
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