After we shut off the water supply and unbolt the line, Bug scurries down the hall for towels.
“Which one?” he calls. “Where the laundry is?”
“No, across from the laundry. The little door. That’s going to be the linen closet.”
“Okay.” He comes back with all we posess, his arms spilling over with a rainbow of hand-me-down terrycloth. It’s a familiar routine on a new stage. So many rainstorms, so many sopping towels. My father would holler up from the basement for more as he tried to staunch another torrent from the window well. We’d run the mucky things through one dryer cycle after another as we hustled to stay one step ahead of the next cloudburst.
“Home ownership,” he’d grumble and shake his head at me, determined as I was to take up this albatross. “You’re about to find out what it’s really like.” Continue reading “Control Flow”
Shannon E. Williams 