He wanted to see the house where I was raised. So one morning Alexander and I drove downstate through a rainstorm in his friend’s rumbling truck, the brake drums long corroded into a color like red earth. Out on the patio my mother dried the cushioned seats of the raindrop splattered cast-iron chairs. I never recalled the white paint on the chairs being chipped. The table we sat at had a huge white umbrella that looked like the bottom half of a petticoat. He drank ice tea and ate slices of the greasy pound cake she bought from the market and laughed at her wry sense of humor. My mother broke off bright orange flowers from the stems of three tiger lilies and tossed them into the pool water. The flowers floated up and down and I shielded my eyes from the sun and shifted my chair closer to under the umbrella. A large hornet, its body solid black with coils of vivid yellow, looped around my mother’s head, the sound of its buzzing like the hum of a chainsaw in the distance. She swatted it with the back of her hand, which only further enraged the aggressor. Alexander went inside the kitchen, emerged with a rolled up newspaper, and fervently smacked at the wasp in the air. Wings broken, its body drifted to the teak of the patio, droning once more before falling silent. “Thank you,” my mother attempted a smile, forming her lips in a rather unflattering slant. She opened the sliding glass door to let the tabby cat outside, and offered to refill everyone’s ice tea glasses. I reminded her only Alexander was drinking ice tea. The ginger-colored cat weaved himself in and out of our legs.
Alexander drove me into the town square to see an early evening film. The movie theatre lobby smelled of boxed candy and frying lard, pungent, but delicious. Hotdogs rotated on a roller grill. Doughy soft pretzels with bumps of salt warmed in a transparent plastic case. He bought a bucket of popcorn with lots of salt and a fountain beverage from the concession stand, although he refused to eat any of the popcorn himself. He claimed it was terrible for his arteries and then proceeded to dance a jig around the reception area. I giggled at his antics and told him he didn’t make sense. We sat down to enjoy the picture, and he placed his warm arm across my shoulders when the lights faded and the film previews began. Halfway through the film, I snuck outside for a cigarette. There was a clear nighttime sky. The days before autumn’s arrival were numbered and there was a distinct, bracing chill evident in the air. Instead of invigorating my lungs the cold air felt as if it could singe my throat and I was sorry I decided to leave the warm theatre building. I loitered near the ticket booth, which had a makeshift cardboard sign taped to the other side of the Plexiglas, indicating it was shutdown for the evening. Above me, huge fluorescent light bulbs surrounded the front billboard with the name of the one film the theatre palace was showing, the same film they had been screening for the whole summer. A few of the light bulbs were broken, a few others were about to go dark. The sign gave off the appearance of smashed-in teeth. I decided we would leave that night.Elizabeth Fallon is currently completing a degree in creative writing at Goddard College. Her writing has previously appeared in 3:AM Magazine, Word Riot, Leaf Garden and The North Central Review.
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