If you missed my first slice of Rose Jackson, you can find it here.
After a shower and a mess of pins to control her greying locks, Rose fuddled around for her keys, reminded the poodles of proper manners and scuffled out through the side door only to be startled by the birds as they up and swarmed the sky from the creaky, abrasive and abrupt twist of the doorknob. Outside, her keys lost her grasp and hit the cold concrete. The thoughts came beating into her mind as nausea overcame her from her abrupt bend to grab the keys. Annie, the recluse next door was peeking out of her stained yellow curtain again—Rose saw just one eye and the slight crease in the fabric near the window’s edge. Wanting to either yell or give her the finger, Rose looked up to the sky and saw, as vividly as if it was yesterday, the sharp edges of the words written on the paper ripped from a child’s spiral notebook that arrived at her doorstep yesterday. The words paralyzed her lucidity. And Annie watched. The poodles barked at the door and the birds returned to the tree as Rose lay down on her stomach and let the coolness of the concrete sink into her being. What lie ahead in her day could wait. The bank and post office had opened only moments ago.
She had just started to drift off, right there on the concrete, when Annie’s rap on the window startled her back into real time and the birds again fluttered to the sky and the poodles again pierced the moment with their concern.
Rose watched the curtain regain it’s tainted familiar shape as Annie was done with her spying ways. Rose lit up a Virginia Slims cigarette, got into her faded black Cadillac, turned the ignition, and off she went. The bank wouldn’t be busy at this hour and she could have a moment with her safe deposit box. Alone.