Belle
Mom gets me all fixed up on Sunday morning to go see Grandma Belle. We take the big old Buick into town and park right out in front of the local harem. Belle lives up on the second floor, shares a room with a Native American man. Strange glares from everywhere as we enter and shuffle towards the back staircase. I wipe my hand up the rails as we climb, clearing away the years of dust. We find her at the end of her haunted hallway. I think she is a queen.
Except Belle wears no shoes on her knotty feet. Toes stack on top of toes. I sit on her lap as she adores me. Pull the skin tags on her neck. Stretch them out and let them go again. She doesn’t say much. Just hands me the earrings that she wears. Mom yanks them away saying that they’re from that man and against our beliefs anyway.
The next time I see her she’s dead. That man had become jealous and set Belle on fire. On a Sunday we skip the morning meeting and drive on down to Green’s Funeral Home. We’re the only ones there. Behind the curtain Chester plays the organ. He has fun with it, playing the Ballad of Bonnie and Clyde and the Marine Corps Hymn.
One more shows up halfway through the service. Crosses his legs in the back row. He isn’t wearing shoes either. I think it’s that man.
(Appeared in Conclave Issue 1: 2008)