Our neighbor Lil looked like a TV Indian, all sunbaked and leathery. She wandered the streets brokenly, ill dressed, barely attuned. She still recognized me. Then her calves grew putrescent and slowed her down.
And I learned about gangrene.
“She drinks a lot,” my mother said. “She’s so nice, poor Lil.”
She and silver-haired Jess lived in a tidy two-bedroom across the street. Apparently, he drank too. “A lot. They’re both so nice.”
“They’re both Okies, you know. They’ve been through a lot.”
When Lil set her kind eyes on me, all my teenage troubles vanished.
Photo credit: Euan