On Monday, St. Maddy's was in an uproar, teacher's at wit's end, parents lining up in the halls. Strange things were going on and everybody was talking about it. Standing by the door as I walked in were an odd assortment of yuppie mothers, various black and brown wardie parents and a slim, dark and handsome guy in a silk suit who looked like something out of a clothing advertisement.
Standing over to one side was a rough looking Hispanic kid, clearly gang material. He assessed me with a feral look like he was searching for a good place to stick a knife. Sarah Glennon's mother recognized me and came walking over. "Tonight at your house, right?" she whispered covertly. I nodded. She looked frayed at the edges. Mary Glennon is an intensive care nurse. It takes a lot to shake her up but then she hadn't slept in the last 36 hours. I put my arm around her shoulders and she leaned against me for support.
Our house is just off the bayou around Hermann Park, a large inner city natural area. Our lot is covered in trees that obscure the house from the street. Our back yard is right off the park. About three Saturday afternoon, I put on Rickie Lee Jones' first album, switched on the outside speakers and walked out on the back porch to clear my head. There had been a light shower. I like to go outdoors after a rain. Things feel fresh. Its the only time most of the smog gets washed out of the Houston air.
As I ambled around the corner of the garage, I found myself face to face with a large and decidedly nervous dappled mare. The horse and I froze and stood looking into each others' wild eyes for a second, then she reared up right in my face and I backed up in a panic. I tripped over an old case of motor oil and landed like a sack of potatoes on the ground. Two open oil cans from the last time I drained my crankcase splashed all over me.
No comments:
Post a Comment