We sit at an outdoor table writing. There are five of us--Lisa, Beth, Glenda, Linda and me--around the table. A bird is exhorting us and a cat greets us as he checks for the source of the chicken he smells.
That bird--a meadowlark?--singing encouragement to us here in the heat of the day, such as it is. A radio blared only for a moment and now the phone rings. A fly buzzes in my ear, a tiny noise, but enough.
On the table sit bowls of fruit--grapefruit, cantaloupe, apples of two colors, bananas and grapes--and a bowl of melting ice chilling a bottle of chardonnay, sunlight illuminating the bottle so that it glows like gold. A gnat or a mosquito, I'm not sure which, crawls along its smooth curved surface.
Pens on paper, paper riffling in the wind--other sounds that catch my attention. Wind in the trees now....
When it was nearly time for us to leave, we again sat at the table under the trees and spliced the following writing together out of everyone's contribution:
The erased word
A fly hiked along the crisped skin of the chicken leg, then flew
to the thigh where it crossed its front legs and feasted. Tootie
shooed it away and took a big gulp of her iced tea, leaving
greasy fingerprints on the side of the jelly glass she drank
from.
"Melba, get ready!" she yelled, turning her head toward the
dining room where Melba sat working a crossword puzzle.
Tootie licked her greasy thumbs and fingertips, then pushed her
240-pound housedress-clad body from the kitchen table.
This was not going to be a pleasant trip and Tootie knew it. She
hated going to visit the two aunts. They weren't even
her aunts. They were Melba's. So Tootie felt she must
do her duty by Melba. After all, she loved Melba, right?
No, not exactly. I wouldn't call it love, she thought. Not
that. She remembered the trip to Down Street, when she carried a
sack, a 400-pound sack, of avocados on her back. Oh God, she
thought, the strength I had then. The will. The sheer desire.
What happened to that precious, sweet part of me? Where'd it go?
Can I get it back?
Of course I can, she thought. Absolutely. I've been lucky all
my life.
She stood in the doorway, tapping her foot, impatient that Melba
didn't notice. Or maybe Melba didn't want to notice.
"So how damn long will that crossword puzzle take?" she
asked.
"Until you give up and go," Melba said without looking
up.
"Go eat worms," said Melba.
"You eat worms," said Tootie.
It was frightening. Melba drew back trying not to be
enveloped by all that flesh. Hot smushy flesh sticking to her
face. She couldn't breathe. She felt suffocated by all that, by
everything, the flesh, her sister Fat Tootie.
Return to Nancy
King's personal page
The bag of ice
The smell of my husband's beard
This moment and a sense of my life's reality
Hunger and laughter
The way I look when I look good
Wanting to be a naughty girl...
These things I can't hold onto.A Collaborated Scene
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Last updated 5/17/96
Nancy King can be reached at nking@nmia.com