T

Donna M. Dean

understand. People who laughed. People who knew. People who
sneered, or would if they knew. If they could see her in spite of the
magic sweatshirt, jeans, and worn tennis shoes.

Well, yes, if she remembered correctly, things weren't always
so great when she was little, either. Her father drank, you know.
He got mean when he was drunk. Smashed ‘em all around just for
the hell of it. Mom ended up in the hospital a lot. She could see
why her brothers all beat on her, and made her do things. Not
their fault, what with Daddy like that. But she knew she could fix
them, if they’d just listen to reason. Maybe she’d go on back home,
talk some sense into Mom and Daddy. Maybe next summer.

I enjoyed seeing her. She was so polite, so proud, and so damn
likable. I'd call her when she hadn’t come to see me for a couple
of months. Truth was, I missed her, and worried about her. But,
no, she wouldn’t come in unless she could pay me. Those were the
rules. It'd get pretty bad, sometimes. The FBI knew now. Her
phone was tapped, and her landlady had been in her house, stole
some letters and notes. They were really on her ass at work.
Laughing at her behind her back, said she was crazy because she
was seeing me. OK. She’d go in to see the doctor and get some
medications. OK. She’d come and see me; she’d find the money.
She liked it there in the office. It smelled so good. We were both
glad to see each other.

It was a glorious late summer day, and the fuschias were vying
for attention in their swinging baskets. A rare hot afternoon, not a
cloud in the turquoise sky. On time as usual, her turquoise blouse
was the exact color of the sky, and her running shoes were so white
they hurt my eyes. Her beautiful dark eyes sparkled as she told me
all about her frip to the grocery store yesterday afternoon. Stuff
looks different in daylight!

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