The sun going down and car horns like the calling of bulls far off and the air fizzing like hornets’ nests when they’ve been disturbed. And Kitty tells me I ain’t worth the time of day and her voice sharp as nails or broke glass. And I can’t think straight. All my thoughts crowded in my head and its like counting cows in a restless herd and I can’t get past the number seven before I have to start again.
And I notice that there’s a smell in the room and it is the smell of flowers that grow in the meadow and I remember Kitty once and her words were soft as feathers and I made her a gift of flowers that she stood in green water in a jar and she set them next to the window where they could still see the light. Waking beside her and breathing in the smell of those flowers, I remember that, too.
Kitty now punching the air and her face as hard as a slammed shut door and she tells me what I got to say ain’t worth shit. ‘Do you hear?’ she says. ‘Do you hear what I’m telling you?’ And there’s a crease on her brow, deeper these days, and she has the same when she’s sleeping, and I used to rub it some nights, soft and gentle till it was gone, and when she woke she said she’d dreamed the sweetest dreams. And it’s there when she’s shouting at me and I want to rub it smooth again.
She’s mad as a bag of caught cats and she’s been like that for more than a month now and she says she can’t be doing it no more. And I hear music somewhere, a radio turned on and a song I know playing, and the room sways just for a moment. And I want to take her in my arms and dance, like that first night and Kitty leaning into me and the smell of her hair right under my nose and her body warm and pressing against mine.
I ain’t perfect. None of us is, but there’ve been moments when it felt perfect between us. I want to remind Kitty of that, but she’s saying as how I should just go and I should take Kip with me. Kip is one of those perfect moments, except he’s more than a moment cos he’s nearly seven. I can recall the very first day and Kitty lying exhausted on the bed and the midwife handing me my son wrapped in a bloody cloth. And I held him like he was made of thinnest glass and I carried him to the window where he could see the light and the light could see him and I cried quiet as small rain falling. And I can remember all the days between then and now.
I’ve got our bags packed and thrown into the back of the pick-up and Kip’s sitting in the front seat and he’s sleeping. Kitty doesn’t come out to see us off and I don’t see her at any window. I start the engine up and wait a minute or two more. When she still don’t come, I pull out of the drive and onto the road.
Slowly, as I put distance between me and Kitty, the thoughts in my head settle, like water and dirt scooped from the river in a bucket and gradually everything stills and the sand drops to the bucket bottom and the water clear like glass so as I can see the small silver fish swimming there.
I turn the radio on, but it’s a different song playing. And I look at Kip, still sleeping, and he has a crease in his brow just like his mammy and I want to rub it away and his silver-fish dreams at least to be sweet.
Patricia Ann McNair 
The sun going down and car horns like the calling of bulls far off and the air fizzing like hornets’ nests when they’ve been disturbed. And Kitty tells me I ain’t worth the time of day and her voice sharp as nails or broke glass. And I can’t think straight. All my thoughts crowded in my head and its like counting cows in a restless herd and I can’t get past the number seven before I have to start again.
And I notice that there’s a smell in the room and it is the smell of flowers that grow in the meadow and I remember Kitty once and her words were soft as feathers and I made her a gift of flowers that she stood in green water in a jar and she set them next to the window where they could still see the light. Waking beside her and breathing in the smell of those flowers, I remember that, too.
Kitty now punching the air and her face as hard as a slammed shut door and she tells me what I got to say ain’t worth shit. ‘Do you hear?’ she says. ‘Do you hear what I’m telling you?’ And there’s a crease on her brow, deeper these days, and she has the same when she’s sleeping, and I used to rub it some nights, soft and gentle till it was gone, and when she woke she said she’d dreamed the sweetest dreams. And it’s there when she’s shouting at me and I want to rub it smooth again.
She’s mad as a bag of caught cats and she’s been like that for more than a month now and she says she can’t be doing it no more. And I hear music somewhere, a radio turned on and a song I know playing, and the room sways just for a moment. And I want to take her in my arms and dance, like that first night and Kitty leaning into me and the smell of her hair right under my nose and her body warm and pressing against mine.
I ain’t perfect. None of us is, but there’ve been moments when it felt perfect between us. I want to remind Kitty of that, but she’s saying as how I should just go and I should take Kip with me. Kip is one of those perfect moments, except he’s more than a moment cos he’s nearly seven. I can recall the very first day and Kitty lying exhausted on the bed and the midwife handing me my son wrapped in a bloody cloth. And I held him like he was made of thinnest glass and I carried him to the window where he could see the light and the light could see him and I cried quiet as small rain falling. And I can remember all the days between then and now.
I’ve got our bags packed and thrown into the back of the pick-up and Kip’s sitting in the front seat and he’s sleeping. Kitty doesn’t come out to see us off and I don’t see her at any window. I start the engine up and wait a minute or two more. When she still don’t come, I pull out of the drive and onto the road.
Slowly, as I put distance between me and Kitty, the thoughts in my head settle, like water and dirt scooped from the river in a bucket and gradually everything stills and the sand drops to the bucket bottom and the water clear like glass so as I can see the small silver fish swimming there.
I turn the radio on, but it’s a different song playing. And I look at Kip, still sleeping, and he has a crease in his brow just like his mammy and I want to rub it away and his silver-fish dreams at least to be sweet.