Jerry's Van
Four friends arrive to help Jerry move his van. He has punched it good into a snowbank. Jerry takes the driver's seat while his friends heave
snow and ice. He turns on the stereo and lights a cigarette, but it's hard to crank the wheel with one hand. Jerry's friends curse and spit
and stomp the frozen ground. The van's headlamps drill cones of light into the darkening forest as it lurches forward, falls back.
Early the next morning, the van is still there, but fading. A dusting of
fresh snow makes it disappear among the trees.
Redfeather
My neighbor's boy squatted in my driveway, tracing circles with a stick on the pavement. "I named your mailbox Dashiell. And the name of
your curb is Garbo." I asked how he was feeling about his new baby brother. "His name is Redfeather."
My neighbors explained to me about the naming phase. He had christened
their sofa Cromwell.
"What's with the historical names?"
"We're not sure. He insists on calling the baby Redfeather."
"Any Indian blood in your family?"
The parents shook their heads. "It's just a phase. He'll grow out of it.
Everything will be anonymous soon enough."
Jenny is a Contributing Editor at Wandering Army. She remains highly
suspicious of blogs. Click this and
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