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And my Uncle Ralph.”“What exactly did you have in mind? We have some really nice new 6 cylinder, 2-door and 4-door models you might like.”“I want that black Chevy convertible coupe out on the lot!” I told him and he looked at me, then back to Granny’s titties.“I’m afraid that one has been spoken for, but we have three nice 2-door hardtop models similar to that one.”“No Sir, I want that one if it hasn’t been sold. You said that it had been spoken for, does that mean they haven’t paid anything down or signed an agreement to purchase it?”“No they haven’t, but the man called and asked my son-in-law to hold it for his son until next week and I agreed to do it, since it is one of the most expensive factory specials I’ve ever had on my lot and I was afraid I’d be stuck with it.”“I’ll pay you cash for it, Mr. Foster! What’s the sticker price?“ I asked and I saw his eyes open wide at the mention of cash. I had seen the sticker and knew it was listed for just under thirty-eight hundred dollars. What is this? Dear god. Dear Jesus, sweet Jesus. George, Harold… She begins to suspect the answer is beyond her reach. She sends out fingers of desire, need, thought- tries to project them into her past, pull out something stable. The images seep through her fingers like fine sand peppered with doubt. Irving, Johnothan, Kenneth, Lyle… She has a deep envy of the living. She is tired of her half-existence. She is tired of being sad, tired of not even minding that someone her age should grieve. And in the thin bony box of her head she understands, and accepts, the fact that her immense unhappiness is doomed to irrelevance anyway. Why worry? Why yearn toward a dream that is doomed to be unfulfilled? Because it would ease my regret. The woman can’t even express her inner turmoil to others, apart from holding onto a loud, scratchy moan. She does this, on occasion, to no effect. She feels a part of her wanting to go back to the things she used to like- the feel of a new toothbrush against.
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