Page 123 - The Geography of Women

The Geography of Women 109

it up at what I had just decided, standin alone in my calla
lilies, was gonna be my First Annual Fourth a July party.
Next to Jessarose, my best laughs were always with
Byron, who was gonna get a piece a my mind if he wasn’t
in time for the fireworks.
I could see across my yard under the golden light on the
porch that Wilmer Fox, havin finally let Sue Ellen Breed
sing one a her never-popular medleys a show tunes, had
surren dered the piano to Claudeen Thomas who slowed
the pace a the party nicely down from swing an rock ’n’
roll more to waltz time, perfect for a summer’s twilight
that hung like a canopy over Canterberry.
Across town at the VFW the boys had started off the
evenin’s patriotic cavalcade a high-flyin aerial displays,
while at the O’HARA INN, more modest cherry bombs
kept everybody jumpin, an the kids holdin sparklers was
runnin bright rings a fire aroun the fountains a red an
orange sparks that kept everybody oohin an aahin. Colors
was mergin with each oth er! What a sight! My Daddy
woulda been proud!
I tucked my western shirt into my jeans an circled
aroun the lawn toward the house when who should I meet
comin through the bridal wreath bushes but Wilmer Fox.
“You like to scare me to death,” I said. “What you doin
in my bushes?”
“Shh!” he said, “the little boys’ room was busy, so I
took my business out here.”
“You mean you been piddlin in my garden?”
“Shh!”
“Don’t you ever, Wilmer Fox, shhush me!”
“She’ll hear you.”
“Who?”
Right on cue, big as life, partin the bushes, snortin

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