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Show Motherlunge a novel 19 She cut her other wrist, quickly, and then, charging the call to her room, called Walter at work as the warm blood ran down her hand to her index finger to the phone's rotary dial-the dial so much like the picture wheel for a Viewmaster, in which the world's static beauty sprang toward you as if in final joy. By George, I think she's got it! It sprang toward her. This all happened in Supernal, Montana, a college town, home of the Runnin' Coyotes. A town in a valley, blue-green with trees and shiny with tin roofs and streetlights, a dent of culture and commerce in a state of mountains, plains, and famously Big Sky. Here my parents met, co-mingled, married, and stayed. They had my sister (see above). Here my father finished school with a degree in General Studies and a promotion to Assistant Manager of Produce at Buttrey's Market. In the black early morning, he met the tmcks at the loading dock, and helped unload the boxes. Did my father, Walter, manage other duties as the manager assigned? Did he devise clever signage (How's them apples? 40 cents a pound!)! Was he careful to rotate the heads of lettuce so that the fresher ones were in the back, and did he tear off the browning leaves? Walter did these things only occasionally and not well. He did enjoy aiming the carrots all in one direction, however. He made a hellfire of raining orange arrows. |