CRAVY
They would come over to play,
especially in the summer. Whilst my brother was busy fighting with Jimmy, I
would hide under the bed with Holly. Holly and me would innocently investigate each
other, and not having anyone to report to, I would mentally store my tentative
findings for future reference. I don’t know what she did with hers.
I liked Holly, she had the best mouth and a
soft voice. She asked me things. She never shouted or got upset like I did. She
was comfort.
Her hair reminded me of breast meat
on a roast, the blonde strands through my fingers instead of the tines
of a fork. I knew it wasn’t complimentary to say your hair is like cooked
chicken, greased as that was with connotation, but to me the thought was soft
and warm and all I had for comparison. Still, I had the sense to keep my mouth
shut. Not that I needed to give compliments. I was after nothing.
I think of Holly on occasional Sundays but since my Nan died nobody cooks up that memory as much.
I think of Holly on occasional Sundays but since my Nan died nobody cooks up that memory as much.
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