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Board Administrator Username: mjm Post Number: 3627 Registered: 11-1998 |
Honorable Mention Eclectic Eye Laurie Byro He sat white haired, a wizard strumming a ukulele. George had a lot of new merchandise for sale - bowls, bric-a-brac, old-ladies' pearls, carved birds. What made me go was the vaudevillian’s trunk. I told my husband as I dropped him at the AA meeting, that I was off to see the wizard. Fever came on like a furnace blast, made me stagger. I walked broken pavement, scuffed leather shoes. George made me sit and ran for water and aspirin. He strummed his uke and told me to play with the treasures in the trunk. A woman saw him with a hand on my forehead, and went to get chocolate to cure me. I forced the trunk with keys that didn’t fit. An old moth-balled sailor’s suit. Almost my size. Dresses and taffeta slips. A quilt made of party frocks and a box of old black and white photographs. A dusty leather journal that said “receipts” filled with a tiny old woman’s script. The feathered boa, balding but in tact, slithered from the trunk into my hands. George winked at me. I wrapped it round my neck, around my head like a swami. It was the light brown of long grasses at the end of summer. Dark brown turkey feathers, the color of the Indian’s wooden eyes, ran through it. I had to own it. It wasn’t even priced. I took it out into the 100 degree summer sun. I told George I would pay for it later. My husband smiled and said you should have it if it'll make you happy. The boa writhed in its hiding place behind me while I shimmied for permission to acquire it. |
