Monday, February 9, 2015
He lay under a cheap, red quilt, his face turned away. The other one lay with his feet on his pillow, his face turned toward her and up. She saw her words come out of her mouth, wind up the pull cord of the overhead fan (it was off), settle there, stuck in the dust. Her hands waved in the air. She conjured tears. I'm going to cry! His face turned from the wall, the red cover over his chin. He looked straight up. Do you understand? I can't take it anymore! The other one smiled, a squirm. His big toe bent toward the second one, enfolded it, a fat pad.
She had lost track of their feet, first.