Cornbread (Kindle Single) by Hammer Sean

Author:Hammer, Sean [Hammer, Sean]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2012-10-17T05:00:00+00:00

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When I got home I got to sittin’ on the bed and starin’ out the window, just lookin’ out me and my husband’s bedroom window like I was expectin’ a pig to fly by, and it weren’t long before I sat there enough the light began to change, those last bits of that lit-up gray from an overcast day goin’ into a thicker black. I felt about like a dark curtain was fallin’ when I looked at it. I grabbed that little gold handle on the drawer under the nightstand, its shine all spotted what from being touched so many times over the years. I took the picture of me and Momma outta the drawer and thought on it a bit, thinking maybe that big white ball of sun over my head looked like a halo. Probably not. I asked my husband just the once if I could put the picture up, and we got in a big fuss, him sayin’ that I liked that truck driver — Barney — more than I liked him, and that maybe I oughta just been like my Momma and dated truck drivers and construction workers my whole life, and he grabbed the picture right from my hands and shut it up in that drawer, in the dark, sayin’ we didn’t need to look at it. I suppose he thought once we were married and he got the rights to my future he owned all my memories, too.

When I saw Bradley Timmons’ truck pull up — he was my husband’s ride that day, it would be a cold day before he let me drive him anywhere — I knew I’d better pretend to be halfway through supper before my husband was through the door. I gave the picture one last look over and felt sad putting it back in the drawer.

I nearly jumped and burned myself when he come up behind me and grabbed me by the waist, but he just stood there real gentle and kisses me on the cheek. My wrist was smartin’ somethin’ real good. I couldn’t remember the last time he come up behind me like that and kissed me. “You get my truck fixed?” he asked, though I suspect he knew I did.

“I had the tires rotated, if that’s what you mean,” I said. Well he caught a minute at that but then he just says, “Good,” like he was tryin’ to act like he didn’t think nothin’ of it. I felt a little somethin’ inside me like I done somethin’ good, and I got to thinkin’ it was a nice feeling; got to thinkin’ I ought to feel like that more often: hell, I go to church every Sunday. Well I turned ’round to tell him so, to tell him he could’ve just told me what was wrong with his truck all the while, I’m not an idiot. But when I turned, there he is with that mop of his all thrown back like he just run his hand through it, and he’s holding four big roses, each one of them things red like raw steak.

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