novembre ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- neighborhood excitement the pickarts' garage aflame and we noticed it after yanking the dogs to the top of the driveway and seeing four mammoth fire engines, bleary red lights and spattles of neighbors henpecking the firemen, reporters flitting on the egdes. my mother treated it as if it were a party: now i get to meet the new neighbors, that old codger's daughter moved into his house and tore down all the trees and i want to have a word with her. my father ferreted liz pickarts through the deluge into our bathroom; hers was blockaded. try as i might i couldn't hear any sound come from the bathroom next to the kitchen, even though every noise is magnified in that little hollow space. she is too regal to have anyone witness such a human act. the dogs stationed themselves outside the door, waiting for our guest to emerge and to lick her spotless shoes. after shirking them off her, i hugged her tightly and noticed how much she resembled nancy regan. big hair and flower-petal perfume wafting after her. old and graceful, shaking and matronly. just like her lawn. spongey and un-touched for decades, now indented with firemen's boots the size of tree trunks. it hasn't hit me yet, she announced to us in her soft voice, straightening her mauve sweater set after i released her.
9:38 pm - 07.03.02 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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