A Stiffer Breeze

A Stiffer Breeze Percival Everett (bio) Honduras had been nothing but waiting, standing by windows, rocking back and forth from heel to toe. He had waited to be told to go here, to go there, waited to be told to pick up this or that, waited to be told to wait some more, and waited to be told he could go home. Now home, he waited to feel like he was no longer waiting. David Calder's mother called to him through a partially open bathroom door. He leaned his head through the shower curtain to hear her say, "Laura Valus is on the phone." "Would you get her number, please, and tell her I'll call her back." The hot water felt good, opening his pores and punching his face. He let the spray massage his neck for a long time, too long a time and he ran out of hot water, had to wash his hair with cold. He accepted the freezing water while he studied the green and white tiles that he had seen throughout his childhood, which had come to define bathrooms for him. He turned off the water, stepped out, dried himself, wiped the mirror and shaved. He pulled on some jeans and a white shirt that was stiff from drying on the line in the dry New Mexico air. He walked into the kitchen to find his mother sitting at the table with Laura Valus. "Hey, Laura," he said, confused at finding her there. "David." David's mother stood and moved toward the stove. "I told Laura to just come on over and have dinner with us." "You two know each other?" David asked. "We do now," Laura said. David sat at the table, looked at the settings, then at his mother. "I just figured why have Laura sitting around waiting for you to call when she could join us. That way if she wanted to take you to dinner or something, this food wouldn't go to waste and nobody would have to pay for a meal out." The old woman took a breath and leaned toward Laura. "Restaurants are so expensive these days." David smiled at Laura. "Welcome." "Thanks." "Go ahead and start," David's mother said, setting a plate of potatoes on the table. David passed the green chiles to Laura. "Laura tells me you two went to high school together," the older woman said. David nodded. David's mother sat. "Tell me more about yourself, Laura." [End Page 616] "Not much to tell. I left right after high school and went to college for a while, worked for a while, now I'm back for a while. My parents moved down to Albuquerque while I was gone." "Whiling away the days," David said. He looked at his mother and then at the calendar on the wall behind her. Then, "Why'd you come back here?" "I don't know," Laura said. "This place gets under your skin," David's mother said. "How do your parents like Albuquerque?" "Okay. My father got a better job." "What's he do?" the older woman asked. "Now he's an x-ray technician." "David's father was a veterinarian. David might be one, too." David noticed the way Laura held her head. He liked her dark eyes, her hair, but didn't want to. "It's really good to have David home." David's mother moved the basket of tortillas closer to the center of the table. "I'm sure it is," Laura said. "I miss living near my parents, but I'm glad to be on my own. I can't say I'm happy about working at the Blue Corn." David couldn't picture Laura working at the Blue Corn Cafe for the next ten or even five years. She was smart and the place would dim her considerably, blanking her gaze and fattening her ankles. He'd seen it happen before. It was a trap, coming to this place where there was so little to do, making one day fit into the next, just surviving and hanging on and thinking the beauty of the place made it all right, letting the

Art · Art history · Nothing · Caribbean history, culture, and politics · Philosophy

• Percival Everett Bibliography

  James R Kincaid•Callaloo•2005

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