It was an oyster shell, bleached white. I found it in a box on my aunt’s dresser, the day I showed up to retrieve a few pieces of furniture and cleaned out her whole house to earn them.
I wasn’t emotionally prepared to finger through a whole lifetime in an afternoon. Which clothes might she wear at the nursing home? Did she need her underwear? Why did she have a tiny snuff can in the back of her medicine cabinet? Where did she wear a delicate pair of cream colored gloves, a green pill box hat? Why did she fail to tell me she met Ronald Reagan?
"There's no sense in dropping me off at my parents' house, MTM. Nobody will be home at this time of the morning."
"Well............where do you want me to leave you? I'll only be an hour or so."
"Starbucks. Take me to the only Starbucks in Florence, South Carolina. Not so much because I can get on the wi-fi."
Do you think it's possible to kill a person without ever laying a finger on him? Oh, I don't mean hiring hit men and that hogwash. When committing a crime, it's best to leave a trail you can explain.......in your favor.
But, I mean seriously........can you compel a person to make a particular choice? One that does him in, even if he doesn't know he signed his own death certificate?
I knew he was trouble from the second I laid eyes on him. Such an ass-wipe. YessiryessiryessirI'lldoanythingyouwantsir. People loved him. The right people, that is. Leaders. People with influence. Money. Connections.
The rest of them don't matter, you know. One should only spend his time bullshitting the folks who matter. Remember that. It's the only way to get ahead in life.
My father locked me in the root cellar when I was a boy. No, wait. He didn't just lock me down there. He threw in a few snakes. Poisonous ones. I can still hear them, hissing along the floor.
All right. I'll give you that.