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> Poetry & Prose > Poetry & Prose Online > Crystal Senter Brown > Good Man

Good Man

She is not nearly as pretty as my mother. My brother and I make faces at her when she is not looking. Her dress is too tight, her hair is teased and dyed; but she makes my father feel young again. Mama does not know about her. One day, she and Daddy dropped my brother and I off at the Main Street movie complex, giving us 20 bucks each. They promised us they would return before sun down. We ate our way through all things sweet, good and buttery and six hours later we skipped back out onto the sidewalk. We wait for two hours with no sign of our Father. It was dark when we boarded the last bus of the day to ride home, stomachs aching- not from the pounds of butter, sugar and salt, but from what we knew would happen next; once we arrived back home. As we stepped off the bus, Daddy's white Cadillac slid up beside us, Daddy! We both screamed, as if we had not seen him in all of our years. Just then, Mama peeked out the front door, her head a halo of blue plastic rollers. Come inside, she said before you catch your death. We fall in line, her army of misfits, sitting down for a dinner of Dad's favorites: Chicken corn and sweet potatoes. On Dad's first bite, Mama asked Where on earth have you been for the entire day and night? Without a second thought my brother and I yelled We saw THREE movies! Just as Daddy said We went fishing on the lake. The room swelled, our words hung in the air, with no one to rescue them. Mama said nothing more, the only sound that dared to remain was fork- scraping- plate, fork- scraping -plate. 2008 Crystal Senter Brown
> Poetry & Prose > Poetry & Prose Online > Crystal Senter Brown > Good Man
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