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AUDREY McElROY
LOUJ PRICES
HUGE SELECTION
706-542-9842 • www.wuga.org
EARTH FRIENDLY WATER-WISE • ORGANIC GARDEKmNG|
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706-353*2223
DECEMBER 22,2010 & JANUARY 5,2011 • FLAGPOLE.COM 39
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FINE WINE • OOMESTICS K CRAFT BEER • LIQUOR
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4388 Lexington Rd. 265 North Ave.
706.583.4066 706.543.0005
PERRY’S STORE #1
| 1195 Cedar Shoals Rd.
706-353-0057
PERRY’S STORE #2
4390 Lexington Rd.
IMteuI: 706-353-0630
NO I.D. - NO BEER. DRINK RESPONSIBLY.
T he man is dancing. The double exposure makes
him a spinning figure skater or a square dancer
with arms raised in a flourish before a Right
Hand Star. Tonight he is afloat on drink and laughter.
He is a twirling weathervane in a storm of music.
In the background, a scarlet staircase spills into a
puddle of braided rug. Behind him the bookshelves
and stairs form compli
ant right angles, a pale
golden tribute to quiet
order. But his dancing
stirs up a Kandinsky-like
chaos in front of him—a
cobalt splash, a smear of
magenta. At first he seems
only a dancing man in a
faded golf shirt. But truly,
he is a flamenco dancer,
an orchestra conductor, a
toreador, a dervish. Maybe
even a ballerina.
He is plural.
His lips and eyes can
not agree between sever
ity and mirth. Perhaps
they do not have to,
because this, he says to
me, is deadly serious fun.
A x. 10,1 was a com-
iit mitted tomboy,
with perpetually dirty
and scabbed knees. I
smelled of puppies and
pond water. On Sunday
mornings, I tolerated the
humiliation of church clothes only if given the chance
to sit with Grandma Ilene. When she saw me loping
into church she would grin at my lace-hemmed dress
and shiny plastic shoes, my Dippity-Do’d hair.
“Well, ain’t you Miss Sally Goodin!"
No, I most certainly was not. Couldn’t she see
that I was really a Quapaw brave, a mountain lion, an
armored knight? I sat with her anyway.
Once seated, I began to pilfer from her wooden
bucket purse, usually searching for bubble gum, the
kind you get free at the bank. One Sunday I was peeling
open a piece of Dubble Bubble with the meticulous con
centration of an archeologist dusting a fossil. Grandma
nudged me. She held out her hand and did not close it
until I placed two pink nubbins of gum in her palm.
Our preacher was prone to epic prayers that reached
out in concentric circles from our tiny church up to the
cloudy nest of God. I settled in for sketch practice on
an offering envelope when
Grandma nudged again.
I waited for her to mouth
stop doodling and pray. As
I watched, her face moved
like a pot of pudding just
before it bubbles, with
soft and pregnant work
ings. Then she blew a pink
bubble... peanut-sized,
then gumball-sized, and
finally a perfect plum.
My Grandma was
doing that. In church.
During the pastoral
prayer.
I looked more closely.
Inside the plum grew
another tiny bubble. My
chest expanded with the
urge to shout. Just as the
inner globe inflated to the
si7.e of a scuppernong,
she sucked them both in
with a soft, damp puff.
Her eyes cast out sparks
of joy and seriousness. In
the span of a breath, she
was no longer my grand
mother, but a tow-headed 10-year-old. The prettiest
girl in class, and a showoff, to boot.
I swan, her eyes said, ain’t we having a big time!
Like the eyes in “Double Bender," her eyes dared me
to see her all the way through. Bender is asking, can
you see me? Past the knit shirt into the fury of a cape.
Behind the hatch mark of wrinkles into the mind of a
young jester. Beyond the flesh into whirling, laughing
spirit.
Michelle Estile