table. “To catch the conscience of the king.” She peered up at Blue and frowned. “Margaret,” she said. “How long have you been black?”
“I’m not Margaret,” said Blue. “I’m Blue.”
“So you are. When you are queen, dilly dilly.” She seemed to drift off for a second and snapped back. “Where’s Gabe?”
“He went up to Miami. Some business, remember? Why don’t you go sit down and I’ll bring you some tea?”
Gloria waved her off. “If I set down in that chair I’ll die in it,” she said, shaking the fingers of that hand as if there was some kind of goo stuck to them. “It’s in the air, girlie-girl. On the wind. You can catch a death if you sleep with your mouth open and I’m going nowhere.” She pulled out a kitchen chair and sat down in front of the mason jar. “I need to fly.”
“Would you like something to eat?” asked Blue, knowing there was no point trying to follow Gloria’s thoughts. Just deal with the basics - food, water, rest, medication. Some minds couldn’t think clearly enough to keep the body alive.
Gloria shook her head. “Not me. You’re trying to weigh me down, Shiny-New. How am I supposed to fly with an ass like the side of a barn?” She got up from the chair again and came over to the sink. She was so tiny that Blue was looking directly down at the crown of her head. Blue glimpsed red under the gray-white hair and instinctively double-taked, but when she looked closer she saw that it was just a birthmark, a port wine stain.
“Where’s that skillet now?” said Gloria. “The big one with the bacon grease.”
“Oh...I cleaned that up.”
“Goddamit, girl. What did you go and do that for?”
“It was dirty.”
The old lady sighed. “You kids. Wasteful. You throw everything away. Toss out your telephones. Come in all colors and he can’t even see them.” She shuffled back over to the table and came back with the mason jar clutched in her small, papery hands. “Set that on the sill. I can’t reach from here.”
Blue took the jar from her. It was filled with some kind of pale liquid and what looked like nails and broken glass. It was warm, and her mind immediately reared back in disgust. “Oh God, what is that?” she said, setting it down on the window sill and plunging her hands back into the hot water to take away the unpleasant sensation of warmth.
“Piddle,” said Gloria. “Spit. Iron and glass. He’s not getting out. Not if I can help it.”
“I...I don’t think that’s hygienic, Gloria.”
But Gloria wasn’t listening any more. She opened a cupboard and took out a box of salt. “Coming out in the rain,” she said, shuffling off with the salt in her hands. “I’ll get ‘em.”
Snails? Was that what she was talking about? Blue followed her through to the ramshackle living room, where an old Led Zeppelin album was crackling on the turnstile, Robert Plant singing something about ringwraiths. The rain was all but bouncing off the roof outside and Blue wondered if she was really going to have to do this, to reach out and manhandle this fragile old lady to keep her from roaming outside.
“Gloria, it’s raining. Maybe you should sit down. Have something to eat. A nice cup of tea?”
Gloria went to the window, drew back the curtains and scattered a fistful of salt along the length of the windowsill. “He wants out,” she said. “But I don’t let him. Else he raises hell. I let that evil out once. Not doing that again. No sir.”
It was black outside, the rain streaking down the window pane. Blue could see the ghost of the room reflected back at them but beyond that very little, and with it came that uneasy feeling, when the lights are all on and you can’t see out. Lit up like a fishtank. “Maybe close the drapes now,” she said, stepping towards the window.
Something flashed white across the threadbare lawn. She jumped back with a small scream, but Gloria just looked quietly puzzled.
“There’s someone out
“I’m not Margaret,” said Blue. “I’m Blue.”
“So you are. When you are queen, dilly dilly.” She seemed to drift off for a second and snapped back. “Where’s Gabe?”
“He went up to Miami. Some business, remember? Why don’t you go sit down and I’ll bring you some tea?”
Gloria waved her off. “If I set down in that chair I’ll die in it,” she said, shaking the fingers of that hand as if there was some kind of goo stuck to them. “It’s in the air, girlie-girl. On the wind. You can catch a death if you sleep with your mouth open and I’m going nowhere.” She pulled out a kitchen chair and sat down in front of the mason jar. “I need to fly.”
“Would you like something to eat?” asked Blue, knowing there was no point trying to follow Gloria’s thoughts. Just deal with the basics - food, water, rest, medication. Some minds couldn’t think clearly enough to keep the body alive.
Gloria shook her head. “Not me. You’re trying to weigh me down, Shiny-New. How am I supposed to fly with an ass like the side of a barn?” She got up from the chair again and came over to the sink. She was so tiny that Blue was looking directly down at the crown of her head. Blue glimpsed red under the gray-white hair and instinctively double-taked, but when she looked closer she saw that it was just a birthmark, a port wine stain.
“Where’s that skillet now?” said Gloria. “The big one with the bacon grease.”
“Oh...I cleaned that up.”
“Goddamit, girl. What did you go and do that for?”
“It was dirty.”
The old lady sighed. “You kids. Wasteful. You throw everything away. Toss out your telephones. Come in all colors and he can’t even see them.” She shuffled back over to the table and came back with the mason jar clutched in her small, papery hands. “Set that on the sill. I can’t reach from here.”
Blue took the jar from her. It was filled with some kind of pale liquid and what looked like nails and broken glass. It was warm, and her mind immediately reared back in disgust. “Oh God, what is that?” she said, setting it down on the window sill and plunging her hands back into the hot water to take away the unpleasant sensation of warmth.
“Piddle,” said Gloria. “Spit. Iron and glass. He’s not getting out. Not if I can help it.”
“I...I don’t think that’s hygienic, Gloria.”
But Gloria wasn’t listening any more. She opened a cupboard and took out a box of salt. “Coming out in the rain,” she said, shuffling off with the salt in her hands. “I’ll get ‘em.”
Snails? Was that what she was talking about? Blue followed her through to the ramshackle living room, where an old Led Zeppelin album was crackling on the turnstile, Robert Plant singing something about ringwraiths. The rain was all but bouncing off the roof outside and Blue wondered if she was really going to have to do this, to reach out and manhandle this fragile old lady to keep her from roaming outside.
“Gloria, it’s raining. Maybe you should sit down. Have something to eat. A nice cup of tea?”
Gloria went to the window, drew back the curtains and scattered a fistful of salt along the length of the windowsill. “He wants out,” she said. “But I don’t let him. Else he raises hell. I let that evil out once. Not doing that again. No sir.”
It was black outside, the rain streaking down the window pane. Blue could see the ghost of the room reflected back at them but beyond that very little, and with it came that uneasy feeling, when the lights are all on and you can’t see out. Lit up like a fishtank. “Maybe close the drapes now,” she said, stepping towards the window.
Something flashed white across the threadbare lawn. She jumped back with a small scream, but Gloria just looked quietly puzzled.
“There’s someone out
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