Well… Friday= nothing. Yesterday, about two sentences… today: this. That’ll teach me to go the every day route. It’s never worked for me before, either.
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There was a doorbell button on the outside frame, but Will pounded on the edge of the screen door. Childhood memory was his cause for not ringing. The doorbell was there as a warning. Only total strangers, solicitors and those Jehovah’s Witnesses from Breda used a doorbell in Limburg County. The doorbell was a warning of unwelcome interaction or outsiders. Friends and neighbors knocked.
The windows were open, and over the sound of a Disney movie, he heard scrambling and pounding feet. The main door behind the screen as if blown open by an explosion centered by Will. He found himself looking at a pair of kids, tow headed boy and girl, not older than four or five years old. Will tried to match the age of these kids to the guy he saw standing on the edge of the field that morning. Late bloomer… Before Will could muster an introduction, they turned their heads and, in unison, shrieked, “Mom! Someone at the front door!”
They turned to stare at Will. Will said, “Hi.”
The boy waived, the girl bolted. The amiable staredown lasted a few moments before the boy turned his head to loose another yell. He never let it go. Will heard more footsteps, heavier than children, a pace a beat faster than a walk, the stride of a mother interrupted. A silhouette appeared behind the child, then an arm appeared beside the boy. He was swept away with a “Go watch your movie with your sister, and an adult appeared, fully visible on the other side of the screen. “Can I help you?”
The age of the woman seemed more congruent with the age of the kids, mid-to-late twenties, early thirties. Will also saw what he been conditioned to imagine what every Limburger farmwife looked like. Thick and curvy, not fat, but solid. Dressed in a gingham blouse, with the buttons covered by a short apron that hung to the mid thighs of her hemmed, denim cutoffs, Her forearms looked powdered, the white dust ending in sharp lines at her wrists. He could also see where the kids got their hair color. A small gust of breeze traveled through the screen door after rolling through the rest of the house. Whatever was going on back there smelled pretty good.
It distracted him for a moment, before he could answer, “Hi, my name’s Will Holliday. I’ve just walked over from next door. He stretched an arm in the direction of the house. The banging, buzzing and hammering were clearly audible from were he stood. He had no doubt she heard it was well as he did. “Is you husband home?”
At Will’s gesture, the woman’s expression went from inquisitive, to neutral, to trepidatious. He didn’t fail to catch that “husband” added the deepest furrows to her forehead.