Dry We preferred to walk in the rain. I’ll never forget the heat, the car would be tropical and you didn’t dare touch the dial, it was set. Even the red-faced children knew to keep quiet. Oh, he would happily oblige but you would be paying for the lift and mostly in sweat. Speeding meant he was seething over one slight or another. Slow was passive aggressive, a laborious shift of the gears down to second up to third. The odd reasonable mood and you got a driving lesson whether you asked for one or not. Eggshells shards still stuck to the soles of my feet. To this day I question everything, scan facial expressions for a double meaning, an expert in body language, can’t even accept a gift with gratitude.
Gail Sheridan
23
