You don’t want to go
With that kind of woman,
Henry’s mother said.
What kind of woman
is that? Henry asked.
The kind that offer
themselves to men
who are not their
husbands, his mother
replied, sitting back
in the soft chair by
the fireplace, joining
her fingers, forming
what she used to call
her church. Henry watched
her church form of finger
forming, his eyes sliding
over his mother’s dyed
hair, the grey streaks,
the nose, the thin red
painted lips. But isn’t
that kind of women
providing a service?
Henry asked, walking
to the window, watching
his father mowing the
lawn, sweat on the brow,
the eyes dead looking.
Service? His mother said,
her tone icy, Service?
She repeated, that’s not
service, Henry that’s sin.
S.I.N. Henry raised his
eyebrows, there was in
the pocket of his pants,
a pack of fives, unused
as yet. Oh, Henry said,
Duncan Smold had this
woman in the back of
his car, he called it hard
smooching or some such
word. Henry’s mother
eyed him closely, her eyes
narrowing. Then he sinned,
Henry, he sinned, she said,
pushing a hand through
her hair, her features going
red. Oh, right, Henry said,
I’ll tell Duncan next time
he’s in his car with some
woman in the back, that
he’s sinning, Henry turned
away, he didn’t want his
mother to see him grinning.
Oct 17, 2012
Oct 17, 2012 at 2:46 AM UTC
You don’t want to go
With that kind of woman,
Henry’s mother said.
What kind of woman
is that? Henry asked.
The kind that offer
themselves to men
who are not their
husbands, his mother
replied, sitting back
in the soft chair by
the fireplace, joining
her fingers, forming
what she used to call
her church. Henry watched
her church form of finger
forming, his eyes sliding
over his mother’s dyed
hair, the grey streaks,
the nose, the thin red
painted lips. But isn’t
that kind of women
providing a service?
Henry asked, walking
to the window, watching
his father mowing the
lawn, sweat on the brow,
the eyes dead looking.
Service? His mother said,
her tone icy, Service?
She repeated, that’s not
service, Henry that’s sin.
S.I.N. Henry raised his
eyebrows, there was in
the pocket of his pants,
a pack of fives, unused
as yet. Oh, Henry said,
Duncan Smold had this
woman in the back of
his car, he called it hard
smooching or some such
word. Henry’s mother
eyed him closely, her eyes
narrowing. Then he sinned,
Henry, he sinned, she said,
pushing a hand through
her hair, her features going
red. Oh, right, Henry said,
I’ll tell Duncan next time
he’s in his car with some
woman in the back, that
he’s sinning, Henry turned
away, he didn’t want his
mother to see him grinning.
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