same people and places day after day. Don’t they lose their fucking minds?
A stray cat meowed and Lanie leaned over to scratch it. The cat hissed and Lanie backed off. Too bad, she really would have liked a familiar.
As she rounded the corner she kept her eyes open for what type of people might live on the other side of her daughter’s fence. There were three houses that might all line up to Spring’s backyard, and Lanie stepped lightly as she approached the trio of homes. In front of the first were two red bikes, probably belonging to children. In front of the second was a fixed up hot rod, probably circa 1960 something. And in front of the third stood a young man cleaning out sporting equipment from his garage. Lanie smiled and waved at him. He paused a moment, looked behind him, and waved back. Then he hastened into the house.
The sky was beginning to darken.
"Fucking global warming," she grumbled, sucking in the last puff of her cigarette before tossing it on the sidewalk. "...Making the days short like this."
She was about to turn the corner back to her own street when she saw movement behind her from the middle house. She turned in time to see a middle-aged man with an impossibly thin frame jump into the hot rod and zoom away. He had a long, hookish nose and not a hair on his head. The gleam of the waxing moon hit his scalp in a familiar way. Like an eagle. A majestic bald eagle, she thought, and almost skipped home.
"How well do you know the neighbors?" Lanie asked, opening the door. Her daughter was wiping her brow with the hem of her dress.
"I can’t talk now, Mom. Look at this!" Spring slammed a stack of envelops onto the table. Lanie picked up the top one. Someone had drawn a bright, red, frownie face in sharpie on the cover of it, with an arrow pointing to the words Cancellation Policy.
"My insurance is cancelled. Great huh? And that’s just the start of it. The landlord wants to charge us one hundred dollars more a month for you to live here. I thought I told you not to tell anyone." Spring looked exasperated and Lanie wondered if she was having problems with irregularity. She had something for that, but decided not to bring it up yet. Timing was everything with these types of issues.
"I didn’t tell anyone." Lanie said. "I got ethics."
Spring gave Lanie a full once over. "I guess it’s pretty tough to hide you." Lanie watched as Spring tore the envelops into a dozen tiny pieces and emptied them into the garbage can. Obviously she did not want Sam to find them.
"Well, if you’ll excuse me, I gotta go take a crap. I wouldn’t plan on going in there for a while if I were you. Just giving you fair warning." Lanie popped a prune in her mouth and thought if she timed it right she wouldn’t have to wait on the pot but a minute or two.
"When...if...you ever get done, I could use your help, mother. The boys will be here tomorrow and I want the house clean." Lanie watched as her daughter wiped the table with one of Sam’s socks.
"They live half the month in a van with their unemployed father. This is fucking Nirvana as far as they’re concerned." Lanie paused, feeling the pressure of the prunes settle in. "Why the hell do the courts allow that, anyway?"
Spring shrugged. "I think he’s sleeping with one of the social workers again. I can’t figure out why else they’d let him keep shared custody."
Lanie licked her lips. She knew why. "Jason has a way about him. Even I’ve felt his sex appeal."
"God, mother!" Spring frowned. "But I have to agree with you." Spring leaned back against the counter and wiped the sock to her forehead. "I think Jason is going to try and get more child support. He says his restless leg syndrome makes working impossible."
Gurgle, gurgle, thump, thump. The prunes were knocking. But Lanie wasn’t about to leave her daughter feeling unsupported. "What? That’s nuts! The whole court system has gone to hell, I tell you. They should make that man get a
A stray cat meowed and Lanie leaned over to scratch it. The cat hissed and Lanie backed off. Too bad, she really would have liked a familiar.
As she rounded the corner she kept her eyes open for what type of people might live on the other side of her daughter’s fence. There were three houses that might all line up to Spring’s backyard, and Lanie stepped lightly as she approached the trio of homes. In front of the first were two red bikes, probably belonging to children. In front of the second was a fixed up hot rod, probably circa 1960 something. And in front of the third stood a young man cleaning out sporting equipment from his garage. Lanie smiled and waved at him. He paused a moment, looked behind him, and waved back. Then he hastened into the house.
The sky was beginning to darken.
"Fucking global warming," she grumbled, sucking in the last puff of her cigarette before tossing it on the sidewalk. "...Making the days short like this."
She was about to turn the corner back to her own street when she saw movement behind her from the middle house. She turned in time to see a middle-aged man with an impossibly thin frame jump into the hot rod and zoom away. He had a long, hookish nose and not a hair on his head. The gleam of the waxing moon hit his scalp in a familiar way. Like an eagle. A majestic bald eagle, she thought, and almost skipped home.
"How well do you know the neighbors?" Lanie asked, opening the door. Her daughter was wiping her brow with the hem of her dress.
"I can’t talk now, Mom. Look at this!" Spring slammed a stack of envelops onto the table. Lanie picked up the top one. Someone had drawn a bright, red, frownie face in sharpie on the cover of it, with an arrow pointing to the words Cancellation Policy.
"My insurance is cancelled. Great huh? And that’s just the start of it. The landlord wants to charge us one hundred dollars more a month for you to live here. I thought I told you not to tell anyone." Spring looked exasperated and Lanie wondered if she was having problems with irregularity. She had something for that, but decided not to bring it up yet. Timing was everything with these types of issues.
"I didn’t tell anyone." Lanie said. "I got ethics."
Spring gave Lanie a full once over. "I guess it’s pretty tough to hide you." Lanie watched as Spring tore the envelops into a dozen tiny pieces and emptied them into the garbage can. Obviously she did not want Sam to find them.
"Well, if you’ll excuse me, I gotta go take a crap. I wouldn’t plan on going in there for a while if I were you. Just giving you fair warning." Lanie popped a prune in her mouth and thought if she timed it right she wouldn’t have to wait on the pot but a minute or two.
"When...if...you ever get done, I could use your help, mother. The boys will be here tomorrow and I want the house clean." Lanie watched as her daughter wiped the table with one of Sam’s socks.
"They live half the month in a van with their unemployed father. This is fucking Nirvana as far as they’re concerned." Lanie paused, feeling the pressure of the prunes settle in. "Why the hell do the courts allow that, anyway?"
Spring shrugged. "I think he’s sleeping with one of the social workers again. I can’t figure out why else they’d let him keep shared custody."
Lanie licked her lips. She knew why. "Jason has a way about him. Even I’ve felt his sex appeal."
"God, mother!" Spring frowned. "But I have to agree with you." Spring leaned back against the counter and wiped the sock to her forehead. "I think Jason is going to try and get more child support. He says his restless leg syndrome makes working impossible."
Gurgle, gurgle, thump, thump. The prunes were knocking. But Lanie wasn’t about to leave her daughter feeling unsupported. "What? That’s nuts! The whole court system has gone to hell, I tell you. They should make that man get a
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