Page 63 - Contrast2009

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His wrist made deliberate, circular motions as if stirring a
dribble of c'r eam into a mug .of coffee.

She studied him, scrunching her lips into the shape of a

bouncy ball. He watched her black-brown eyes flick,from Bernie

"to'the stroller to -t he pile of empty bottles. "Sorry, I

didn't mean to offend. I'm Violet. It"s been a long, day."

"Walter." His arm closed the ,gap between them.

After a pause, she accepted the handshake. "So, have you
lived here long?"

"Born and raised. ','

"It must be n.i ce ;"

,"What?" To, his right, a painting slid from someone's arm

and squashed into the soggy pavement.,

'''It'mustbe nice to own a house in a sma l'Ltown,

'surrounded by f amd.Ly and friends and neighbors."

His left foot shivered as water trickled into his sock ,i

and, looking down, he realized that his boot was iodged in "

the center of a puddle. '"It's a go~d ,town."

"Do your kids live nearby?"

, . "Kids? No kids." He felt the rnusc'Les in his throat

clench. To his left, a pickup the color of a rotting ba!,ana

limped away, blowing thick exhaust smoke into his eyes. A Las
~e~as casIno glared at him irom the tru~k bed.

" "Sorry, I,just assumed .:." She stared at the stroller.
"It was a wedding present."

"So ,you and your wife decided,~

A truck door slammed into place and, for a moment, it

was twenty~seven years ago and.the screen door was crashing

against the door frame, and Mingo was running after him

saying, it wasn't what it seemed. He pulled his .cap to cover

his eyebrows" more protection' against the unwelc;.omememories.
' "Bernie. My .doq+s !'lam"eis Berni.e,.Do you wimtto pet
him?"

"No thanks. I'm not a dog person, e~actly. I w2Uld love
a house full _p:E kittehs and vases of daisies 'catching the
,sunlight in the window and ..". she bit her lip as the heel of

.her tennis shoe made a trench in th,e dirt. "Well, the t" sort

of thing. No dogs, ~hdugh." '

"Where do you live?" he' asked. ,

She gestured to the canvas flaps of, her tent and 'the mud-

spattered, jeep parked crookedly on the curb. "Here', mostly. I

travel. I paint: I do these art shows. It's money, you know?"

His atte~tion shifted back to the painting, and he

noticed roiling hilli and:the ruips of an ~ncient castle

settled in the background. "Have you been to Ireland?"

"Mimy times. That' 5 the part I love - the landsCapes,' the

serenity, the cool breezes carried in off the sea. Every time

I paint there it's like I'!!lcapturing another piece of my
soul."

He suddenly felt cramped, packed into the narrow street,
wegged amongst shouts, creaking trucks, and gobs of bird