Exposition

Christmas lights stay on all year on the screened-in porch, giving her safety to sit in her living room and see the outdoors through the glass door. Childhood pictures of my boyfriend's brothers and cousins are strewn about, and she wishes she saw more of them than their pictures. It's better in the summertime, when they come to swim. I would come to sit with her at the kitchen table, smoke a Virginia Slim, and discuss the neighborhood gossip. She recently recruited one of her grandsons to repaint the kitchen an Americana shade of blue, and her floor had just been redone by the insurance because of the "accidental" fire two years before. The large window next to the table allowed us to watch as the made-for-water basketball repeatedly missed the hoop, and as body slams put more of the pool water on the lawn than remained in the pool. We knew that we were different, not indulging in the sun or doting upon the things that they cared about. We learned to keep to ourselves, at the football games and weekend outings to Williamsburg. Our opinions stopped mattering awhile ago. I don't really think mine ever did.