Page 96 of Cackle

I don’t know why exactly, but I feel good. I drive home singing a song I make up as I go.

By the time I pull into the driveway, I’m so full of energy it’s coming out of my ears. I leave my shoes in the car and run into the backyard, saying a quick hello to Mr. Frog.

The grass is dead and scratchy underneath my feet, but I don’t care. I like the feel of it. I dance on top of it, singing my song from the car.

And when you hate someone you meet,

they will get a tasty treat,

bones on their tongue and in their cheeks,

bones to make them hush and make them bleed.

Bones are the escape you need;

you can sing and dance alone,

all thanks to the bones.

Above me, the moon is full and shines silvery white.

So bright, so bright, so bright.

But the brightness isn’t just above me. It’s in front of me. Glowing toward me.

There’s a light on.

Downstairs.

The light is coming from a downstairs window.

I notice it now. The other car. It’s parked in the street in front of the house.

Lynn.

She’s home.

And she’s standing in the window, staring at me. She’s been watching me. I don’t know for how long. Long enough.

I should be mortified. Right now I should be experiencing the excruciating sting of embarrassment. I’ve felt it for less.

And yet.

I face the window. I step forward so I can be fully illuminated, so my smile is not masked in shadow. I wave to the face behind the glass. To Lynn.

With a quick swish of the curtains, she’s gone, and the light goes off.

“Oops!” I say to myself. And to the moon, “Oh, well.”

I lay myself down in the grass, waiting to feel some belated humiliation.

It never arrives.

I revel in its absence. It’s liberating.

I laugh and laugh.

RALPH