Alison stood in the alcove of the church, waiting for the funeral procession to begin. She studied the floor; every other tile was decorated with a tiny swastika, a benign symbol when the church was built in the 1700s. Alison's Doc Martens with leather laces looked completely wrong with her borrowed light-blue flowered dress.
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“Hey, hon, how did it go at the doctor?”
“I’m only five foot four and a half.”
My husband stood there, dropping his powerful shoulders while holding his hands
like serving trays, and his knees bent, quite the simian effect.
“Didn’t you tell them you were five foot six?”
“Yes, but the nurse helping me just gently shook her head.”
“Aww, it happens, part of the process, I’m sure I am shrinking too.”
We had our own cozy corner of the world, several families and couples, all with a bit of property, clustered in a fertile corner of our green and fertile county, and we had a bit of privacy too, as our road was a dead end off Gravely Ranch Road.
He’d turned on the football game and the pointless babble and the men running wildly on the high-‐definition green grass drove her out to take a walk in their tiny foothills village. Sure, it was beautiful, the tall pines, the deer lopping across the road to join the two others waiting in the glen, the shock of the scarlet and the amber and the harvest orange leaves, yeah, yeah, it was all there.
The street was charming, lined with boutiques and small art galleries, interspersed with a teashop, an artisanal cheese market, and a store that specialized in lifelike dolls. Meg lingered by the window, intrigued by the dolls, which were all male figures, and dressed in the style of traditional men’s professions.
I saw him on our road, walking in pink crocs, wearing only a loose diaper and a tiny T-‐shirt with an orange stain. It was cold out that morning, still winter, only February after all. I was wearing full running regalia including lined gloves, two pairs of socks, and had my sweatshirt hood pulled over my cap and tightly tied. I had skipped the scarf that I sometimes wound round my neck and up to my chin but I wanted it.
Sierra Foothills, California
