small town with a huge
marquee.
water and sewer
superintendent
of the 20th century. star football
player enters dramatic
theatrical
foray: plays lead male in senior
play
opposite gramma. whom he barely
knew. except with whom he had
(for a variety of unrelated reasons,
reportedly) often found
himself red-
faced in argument. dapper red-face
often contorted into a look
of utter
bewilderment. could skew more at
stupefaction. for numerous reasons.
but who, gramma, in the play,
would
say something (more strict from
the
script but, pointing finger,
to the tune
of) ‘i’m gonna keep my eyes
on you, mister,
even if i have to stare at
your face from
across our kitchen table every
breakfast-
dinner-supper every gosh-durn
day for the
rest of my life.’ seventy or
so years later
she meant those words script-free,
all inside her body and
especially
way down into her heart, no longer
just in character in some
small-town
production. even
though her 1940s
were now tucked neatly into a
dime-
store novel that could only
be reached
by beckoning the
airwaves. even he’d
been gona already for a
decade. of
that grand story and its long
run
on east main street, sixty
years of
no small-town marriage, she’d
be
happy to remind anyone who
cared
until she repaired her
crooked joints
down into the sunken bed
beside him.
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