“I had never been summoned to Number 208 [by the park] before; I nervously adjusted my coat . . .” A person could book a pick-up online or by phoning into FedEx but you couldn’t summon a particular delivery person, could you?
“April, it means what I said,” Becky from the warehouse told me on the phone, “I’m not being rude, the lady who lives there wanted you, specifically, at her home.”
The door was open when I arrived. “I’m here,” a frail female voice rasped.
Walking into the house I heard the respirations of a woman on a ventilator. She was all hollows and sallow skin. Her hair was whispy white and thinning. Eyes the color of blue-bells greeted me but they were bloodshot.
The woman grasped a yellow envelope with a trembling hand. She shook the envelope and a key dropped out.
Her shaking fingers held it out, “For me?” I asked.
I took the key staring at it in confusion; it appeared ancient. As I examined it I heard the woman gasp something. I moved closer to her and held her hand attempting to hear her strained voice. She shook her head with a ragged sigh and breathed her last.
1. When photographs became possible, Aunt Judith said they were the devil’s tool, they would steal a person’s soul.
2. Three-months later, I buy one particular photograph of me I adore and see my pretty face and curvaceous body in sepia; Aunt Judith wouldn’t have been angry if I’d only had a stern portrait taken, having finally had her own picture done.
3. She would be appalled, however, since I have my photograph taken all the time for many men in my costumes; Aunt Judith would disavow her niece, a burlesque dancer at The Gentlemen’s Tavern and Casino; but a girls got to make a living and so far being a nice girl depependant on a husband who ran out her, hasn’t been the best method of survival.