Rolling My Eyes

On Sundays Dave and Barbara would bring the white suit; slung casually over Dave's arm, into the room they had said was his. "Hey, buddy. It is time to get ready for church." Dave would smile down at him. And on Sundays, Barbara would always smile, too. "We can get orange pop, on the way back. If you keep your suit clean." And Tommy would wait until they left the room they had said was his, to throw the clothing over his head and onto himself. Then he would look at himself in the mirror. And on Sundays, Tommy knew he had never went to his Grandmother's church dressed like this. When Tommy was ready, and when Barbara had scrubbed his face clean one last time, they would go through a door in the kitchen, to the garage. They would climb into the blue convertible and the top would be down. It would still smell of fresh oils and lemon. Because on Saturdays, Tommy and David would scrub the car clean. Tommy had never heard someone talk of summer like Barbara t...

Don lived alone and three days after his wife died, he bought himself a riding lawn mower. His late wife had a solid annoyance for slothfulness. One time, Don had let Tommy ride with him. Let him steer the mower, even. Don would throw Mr. Freezes to the children, over the back fence, in the summer. His dead wife would have baked Tommy and Sissy cookies, instead. His dead wife would have probably made them fresh lemonade, too. And had it all sitting on a freaking plastic tray, when she presented it to the little brats that grew-up next-door. Four and a Half Years Old "I just wanted to let you know that we are going," Tommy said, seriously to Don. "We might never be back." "Alright," nodded Don, agreeing. "I have a few things for the two of you. Things you might need. Come on in here for a minute." "Okay," Tommy agreed and led Sissy through the white door, that Don was holding open from the other side. The inside. The living room wa...