Boots

Sometimes Eddie called me into his room and reprimanded me for eating his grapes the night before. He would look at me with his droopy eyes and indulge me in the history of grape theft – from early Egyptian times to the wonderful world of today. I listened and rocked back and forth with my hands behind my back and all I could think about were the grapes I would surely steal the following week when Momma went shopping for groceries.

Once he was done explaining why Sugar Ray became a boxer, he would tell me to help him get his boot off – the left one. He always had a hard time, so I did, help him, I mean. I would pull and tug and he would groan and kick until the darn thing came off. He would take his ostrich leather boot and look inside, then he would take one long, strong whiff, and finally we would say “Goodbye, gracious.”

Oh Eddie. I always remember him, just like that - passed out on his bed, clasping his boot tightly to his chest and then the long, disturbing wheezy snore that would be sure to follow.