[at-l] ...but not this time.

[Felix <AThiker@smithville.net>]

"Git your feet off there" she said, the squeek of the swing providing 
background music. I put my feet back on the porch. She sat a pitcher of 
tea on the table, ice still swimming in circles. I hated tea. I never 
told her, though. The phone rang and she went back in to answer it. I 
could hear her talking. The air went dead from the weight of tension. 
Something was wrong in the world of Mrs. Purtlebaugh. I could feel fear 
move through my body. What was wrong? Who was it wrong to?

A few unenjoyable minutes passed before she returned. This time she had 
her purse and a sweater. Her keys were jingling in her hand. 
"I'm gonna have to leave for a little while. I'll be back in a bit" she 
said in a rush. She got in her car and left. She rarely drove, and for 
good reason. 

I went out to the sidewalk and watched crawlers squirm from this side to 
that. Wasn't much fun, though. I had no idea what was happening, but I 
knew it wasn't good. Finally, the canary yellow of Mrs. Purtlebaugh's 
Dodge Dart came around the corner, blue smoke puffing out the back. She 
slowly manuevered it into her garage. She quickly made her way back into 
the house, without a word to me. Something was wrong in the world of Mrs. 
Purtlebaugh. I didn't like it.

I started to walk home, pulling a Willow branch at the Wilson's. I could 
hear Mrs. Wilson talking on the phone through the kitchen window, dishes 
clinking together. "He was only 22," she said. Me and mom had a talk that 
night. Seems like learning about death teaches you the most about life.

-- 
Felix
Quote of the Week: "You know what I wanna be? An executive."
Stop and see me at:  http://members.tripod.com/~Felixhikes/index.html

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