Cathcart patted me on the shoulder. “With its own wild creatures and funny smells. But we do it for the Lord, Zora.”
I wasn’t upset. After meeting Ethyl, I didn’t think she was the kind to rave over her hairdo anyway, but the rest of those old souls seemed really grateful. They hugged the girls and carried on so about hair that looked like beginners did it, except for Sara Jane’s lady, who looked like she’d stepped out of the senior edition of
Vogue
magazine.
Even by mountain standards, the beauty-school clientele wasn’t high class; haircuts were only three dollars. Customers were allowed to tip, but hardly anybody did. Sometimes customers came in drunk or high. One lady even came in to escape the locusts that she imagined were everywhere. But after two or three trips to the nursing home, nobody ever complained about the customers that walked in off the street.
7
Love is a strange bird, lighting wherever it pleases, sometimes like a skittish little wren, sometimes like a bold red-tailed hawk. Winston’s love must have been like one of those Canadian geese that choose to wander the world alone after they lose their mate. My feelings for him were more of the wren variety, stealing glimpses of him through lace curtains. Trying to say “I love you” with pot roast alongside creamed potatoes and scratch biscuits, instead of simple words.
I remember the day that red-tailed hawk swooped down and ensnared Sara Jane’s heart. She’d had lots of experience with men, but I don’t think she’d ever really been in love before. She dated a lot, but no one could ever measure up to the heroes she swooned over, guys with names like Lance and Derrick who lived between the pages of dime-store romances.
She was completely unaware when Jimmy Alvarez drove intothe yard where we were lying in the sun. I glanced up and saw him get out of his truck. He was the complete opposite of Winston—short, muscular, sun-darkened skin. He rolled the lawn mower off the back of the truck, nodded politely my way but didn’t smile. When he yanked the pull cord, the mower started right up and that was when Sara Jane rolled over to see where the commotion was coming from.
“Who is he?” She watched Jimmy push the mower around the corner of the house.
“I don’t know. I’ve never seen him before, but I did hear one of the neighbors say something to Winston about the yard last week, said it was an eyesore. I guess he’s hired somebody to cut the grass.”
“Somebody?”
“Well, I guess he’s the yardman, Sara Jane.” I rolled over onto my stomach. “Rub some oil on me, please, and don’t forget to shake it up this time.”
As the warm baby oil and iodine oozed down my back, I turned my face away from the sun and got a good look at Sara Jane, who wasn’t paying one bit of attention to what she was doing.
“Watch out, Sara Jane. You’re getting that stuff on my straps.” She didn’t say one word when I fussed at her; she just sat there and waited for a glimpse of that boy whenever he turned his mower around at the side of the yard. “My God, Sara Jane, you act like you’ve never seen a yardman before.”
I’d only been out of the mountains for a few weeks where I grant you nobody had a yardman, and I was already jaded. I would have been mortified if Sara Jane could have seen my shabby life back home; I was living in a better place now, surrounded by goodpeople. I let out a deep sigh and whispered the words so low I don’t think Sara Jane heard me.
“I’m never going back.”
The smell of fresh-cut grass mingled in the air with baby oil and the beach music that was playing on the radio. There was just enough of a breeze to make the hot sun feel delicious, like the very first time it’s warm enough to lie out in early spring. Sara Jane had brought over a big Thermos jug full of sangria she made from a recipe a friend of hers got from his high-school Spanish teacher, only the teacher substituted sparkling grape
I wasn’t upset. After meeting Ethyl, I didn’t think she was the kind to rave over her hairdo anyway, but the rest of those old souls seemed really grateful. They hugged the girls and carried on so about hair that looked like beginners did it, except for Sara Jane’s lady, who looked like she’d stepped out of the senior edition of
Vogue
magazine.
Even by mountain standards, the beauty-school clientele wasn’t high class; haircuts were only three dollars. Customers were allowed to tip, but hardly anybody did. Sometimes customers came in drunk or high. One lady even came in to escape the locusts that she imagined were everywhere. But after two or three trips to the nursing home, nobody ever complained about the customers that walked in off the street.
7
Love is a strange bird, lighting wherever it pleases, sometimes like a skittish little wren, sometimes like a bold red-tailed hawk. Winston’s love must have been like one of those Canadian geese that choose to wander the world alone after they lose their mate. My feelings for him were more of the wren variety, stealing glimpses of him through lace curtains. Trying to say “I love you” with pot roast alongside creamed potatoes and scratch biscuits, instead of simple words.
I remember the day that red-tailed hawk swooped down and ensnared Sara Jane’s heart. She’d had lots of experience with men, but I don’t think she’d ever really been in love before. She dated a lot, but no one could ever measure up to the heroes she swooned over, guys with names like Lance and Derrick who lived between the pages of dime-store romances.
She was completely unaware when Jimmy Alvarez drove intothe yard where we were lying in the sun. I glanced up and saw him get out of his truck. He was the complete opposite of Winston—short, muscular, sun-darkened skin. He rolled the lawn mower off the back of the truck, nodded politely my way but didn’t smile. When he yanked the pull cord, the mower started right up and that was when Sara Jane rolled over to see where the commotion was coming from.
“Who is he?” She watched Jimmy push the mower around the corner of the house.
“I don’t know. I’ve never seen him before, but I did hear one of the neighbors say something to Winston about the yard last week, said it was an eyesore. I guess he’s hired somebody to cut the grass.”
“Somebody?”
“Well, I guess he’s the yardman, Sara Jane.” I rolled over onto my stomach. “Rub some oil on me, please, and don’t forget to shake it up this time.”
As the warm baby oil and iodine oozed down my back, I turned my face away from the sun and got a good look at Sara Jane, who wasn’t paying one bit of attention to what she was doing.
“Watch out, Sara Jane. You’re getting that stuff on my straps.” She didn’t say one word when I fussed at her; she just sat there and waited for a glimpse of that boy whenever he turned his mower around at the side of the yard. “My God, Sara Jane, you act like you’ve never seen a yardman before.”
I’d only been out of the mountains for a few weeks where I grant you nobody had a yardman, and I was already jaded. I would have been mortified if Sara Jane could have seen my shabby life back home; I was living in a better place now, surrounded by goodpeople. I let out a deep sigh and whispered the words so low I don’t think Sara Jane heard me.
“I’m never going back.”
The smell of fresh-cut grass mingled in the air with baby oil and the beach music that was playing on the radio. There was just enough of a breeze to make the hot sun feel delicious, like the very first time it’s warm enough to lie out in early spring. Sara Jane had brought over a big Thermos jug full of sangria she made from a recipe a friend of hers got from his high-school Spanish teacher, only the teacher substituted sparkling grape
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