Sunday, November 7, 2010

She imagined she carried him out of the woods with a nation's strength. She hadn't seen it before, but he had been a musician, she could tell from the dents on the underneath of his fingers, strumming there like he was alive.
Its so good to have you home, baby girl.
You too, Daddy.
And, then.
Car got gas?
Need any road money?
I think I'm alright.
But he would hand her two twenties folded up or sometimes she'd find them stuffed in the pockets of her purse. Now that she moved, he mailed her checks all wrapped in the same yellow paper and sometimes bearing the highlighter message, "Love ya!!".
She saved these duplicated notes and stuck them in places as bookmarks or in the container that held the bills.

Ezra floated on the stage. She was admired. They wanted to be her, sleep with her, make her breakfast and drive her around. Here, she had curls in her hair, her skin was flawless; she wore silk. She moved to one end of the stage and delivered a line. Her curls shook. Then the note beginning the opening song- a jazz number. She looked good in skin tight clothing, her stomach flat in the shadow.

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