Cemetery Street

The slow, steady current of the river eased my emotions. I worried about my family. Back in California, we seemed to get along. We had our upsets, but nothing like this. Since moving to Beyford, my mother seemed increasingly on edge. "It's hormones," my father said. "Pregnancy," As an afterthought, he added: "the move was hard on her."

"I thought she wanted to leave California?" I asked.

"Pennsylvania is different than she expected. She's having trouble making friends," my father answered.

Go figure, I thought, she couldn't get along with Diane, and she is the coolest grown-up I ever met.

Despite being critical of my mother and never passing up an opportunity to rake her across the coals, Shannie was fair and would give me her honest opinion. That evening I asked.

"She hates her life. Imagine sitting on an unwanted egg, passing time till it hatches. Waiting to make another person miserable," Shannie answered.

I winced.

"If you want a high opinion of a dog, don't ask a cat," she scoffed.

"I thought I asked a bug."

"A lightning bug. I illuminate you with my brilliance."

"Okay Brilliant Bug, what makes you think she doesn't want the baby? She told me so."

"Geezus Pete. You believe everything she says? She did tell you she got pregnant by taking a pill." She paused, measuring her words. "Do you think anyone would wait twelve years before having another wanted hatchling? I'm thinking about this time the rooster would be having his pecker snipped."

I shrugged my shoulders. I had no idea of what Shannie was talking about; I was wrapped up in her style. Comparing speaking skills, mine was pencil marks on scrap paper. Shannie was oil on canvass, she was all about color, theme, and texture.

When I walked into my kitchen. my parents were having a civil conversation. Other then a frown from my mother our spat wasn't mentioned.

That night I realized Shannie was right. My parent's were getting too old to have a wanted baby. They waited ten years after packing away the last of my diapers My father was forty-five, my mother was turning forty next month. Maybe they're trying to save their marriage, I thought as a freight train's horn echoed in the distance.