No, no, I said, but she didn't listen, wouldn't hear all the things that I had to say, if there was time in this world to do and say all of those things that you'd like to the people that you've met who've shaped your life, for better or for worse, which is just, JUST what I had said to her not 6 months ago and here we were, her brandishing a pair of green plastic safety-scissors in the general direction of my face and me saying no, no....No, no, what, she had screamed, you did or you didn't? You DID or you DIDn't? I wasn't here, she was, this flip-flop is not MINE!
It wasn't that simple, the flip-flop. Candy was pissed off about it because she thought it belonged to Rose, and it did so in a way she ought to have been upset, but in all fairness Candy didn't know much about Rose and the way that she smelled like glass-bottled, Mexican coke and how sweet her eyelids felt on my tongue. I liked Rose, at first only because she got her toes all done up with the white-tips and I thought that qualified her as classy, but that, like all things bought and sold, changed with time. She grew on me, and pretty soon I found myself enjoying the taste of her laugh and the way that she'd read books (out-loud) as if I were her own and all those walks we took in the woods, up past Otter Creek and over to the lean-to that looks out over Treman's Pass.
Candy was working for my old man at that point, doing all the books and answering phones at the yard, so she wasn't home that much. Pops is into lumber, same as me before I got laid up and found myself alternating between re-runs of Ricki Lake and midget porn (goddamn interesting if you've never had the pleasure) for 8 hours a day while Candy the yard and the State of New York paid me to do absolutely nothing. She'd come home, angry, sit down and stare at me, angry, ask me how my day was and what I did, angry, then she'd throw a vase or something real breakable, still pretty angry, ask me why I hadn't asked her what her day had been like, pissed, then she'd look at me real mean-like and slap the hole in my leg before turning and swishing her fat little tail out into the kitchen as she asked what I wanted for dinner or had I eaten ALL of her food that day?
Created: Jul 24, 2010Document Media