Small town

Miss Jessie just drove to the P.O. in her nightie again. Not much else but some fuzzy pink slippers that were hanging on the line.

It’s only two blocks down more like one, really, but she drives her car cause she don’t walk that far.

The county sheriff came by to see whether her driver’s license should be revoked due to her age but how will she get to the P.O., where Mr. Bill the postmaster tries hard not to look straight down to her shrunken lady bosom when she fishes through her change purse to buy 15-cent stamps.

Miss Jessie don’t talk to her cousin just across on the opposite corner, not since she wore her hair bobbed and wore a drop-waist dress and buttoned shoes headed down to the watermelon shed to see her beau. But they’re all gone now anyway.

And the doctor’s mamma, she used to live on another corner just down a block or so, just across from the P.O., but they tore that crooked house down. Well, she really was behind the corner, her sister was Miss Cora, and she lived on the corner lot. Both houses are gone, but those ladies were a little bit creepy.

The houses were right by the hardware store and hidden by branches and they didn’t hurt nothing, but they are all gone now. The doctor’s mamma’s house was crooked and doors would shut as you were walking through the house, and it felt like there might be dead people’s ghosts walking behind you and shutting them.

The doctor’s mamma was kinda like a ghost too and would walk out to say “Hi” to you if you walked by. But she was so quiet you couldn’t hear, and she would startle you with her wispy touch and her crooked black drawn-on eyebrows then offer you cookies or could you come in for a visit. No, your mom was waiting for you or some such other excuse.

to be continued