An old lady in blue with a matching blue bonnet rides down the road on a tractor. It jerks and pops and comes to a stop, almost throwing her off. She clambers down and kicks a tire. It’s raining. A man, a neighbor I don’t recognize, helps get it going again and she rides home in the downpour. Cut to the woman in our house, no taller than a pencil standing on its end, living amongst the garbage under our couch. We decide to give her a doll’s rocking chair, something to occupy her time. I get on my knees and call to her. “Excuse me!” But the chair is now a white kitten, which she coos over and accepts with tears in her blue eyes.
Company’s coming. We’re told to clean under the couch, even though no one would see the mess. I worry for the old woman; I don’t want to uproot her. [Liz] refuses to move the VHS tapes she’s let pile up, and I stalk off to the kitchen where I find Robin Williams hovering over the sink. I ask him for a shovel.
The white kitten is now black and has emerged from beneath the couch to chase our shadows.
- September 17, 2012
Lawrence T. Jones III Texas Collection
Southern Methodist University, Central University Libraries, DeGolyer Library