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Show Motherlunge a novel 121 his scalp. He looked familiar; he might have been in Walter's Basic Chemistry class at the U. "Your first?" the man asked. Walter nodded, then shook his head. The mother and mother-in-law exchanged glances, alert to potential tragedy. Had he lost a child? He noticed that the women sat next to each other, not on either side of the man; they were friends. Together, they were going to become grandmothers. Walter's own mother had died in his freshman year of college; she had never met his wife or his mother-in-law, or his baby, the first one. Walter found himself actually v telling this to the man and the man's mother and mother-in-law. "I'm sorry," the man said, and mbbed his chin stubble. He sat back in his chair again and moved his eyes to the television. But the grandmothers had found each other's hands, and the one with curly hair was looking at Walter gently. "She's here, though, your mother," she said, and Walter nodded. Then he looked away too. He felt in his breast pocket for his cigarette and matches, and pulled the ashtray stand closer to his chair. Where do they get the white sand for ashtrays? He tried to imagine a place in the world where the sand could be so pure, so fine, so soft. Where you could walk through the sand barefoot and your feet-hairy, waxy, yellowed from years in socks and shoes-would become coated with tiny flakes of mica. The mica would sparkle with each step and protect you, and you could walk forever without tenderness like a god striding across the sharp black sky. Walter's mother had been quiet. Unlike Walter's father-or, Jesus Christ, his own mother-in-law, Alva-she hadn't told Walter what to do at all. When the mimeographed |