19 January 2013
By Miscellaneous
“Hello, there Miss Violet. How are you?” Daisy Rae asked as she delivered the cookies, and glared at the dog yapping at her feet.
“As fine as one ever can be,” said Mrs Violet. Her rocking chair creaked slightly, and the smell of lilacs filtered through the screen porch. The dog paused it’s constant noise to cock it’s head and smell the flowers.
“Lovely weather, Miss Violet,” said she, holding the cookie platter awkwardly, as the dog started again it’s yelping around her feet. She imagined how Ruby would be waiting for her at the five and dime. She imagined how good a soda pop would be right now, if she weren't delivering cookies to old ladies.
“That it is, Miss Daisy Rae, that it is.” She paused, and there was another creak, but not from the rocker but her knees as she hoisted her thin body out of the chair’s painted and cracked seat. “Just follow me inside, Miss Daisy, and I’ll show you where to put the platter down.”
Slowly, slowly, ever slowly the old lady shuffled to her faded and peeled screen door, and the dog threw itself through a hole in the screen, obviously made for doing so. The girl waited somewhat impatiently as the gnarled hand pushed at the frame around the screen, and when it didn’t budge, pushed harder, to a point where the girl believed Mrs Violet would fall over when it did open. She didn’t, for the door just did a strong brushing sound and was pushed smoothly now, almost into the dog. Daisy wished it had… served the little rat right, but settled for glaring at it.
She followed Mrs Violet through the dark hallway with deep green wallpaper holding up black and white photographs for all it’s worth. The girl tried not to look at the stern glares of the people in the frames. Wasn’t that bad luck, or something to look a photograph in the eye? She didn’t know.
“Come on in, Miss Daisy,” Mrs Violet said from the kitchen and it’s rich red walls. It smelled strongly of wet dog and dry dog food, with a mix of stale milk. The thought of ‘no wonder she stays outside so often’ crossed Daisy’s mind, and she didn’t brush it away as she should… she relished in it’s cynical humor and smiled to herself.
“Daisy?”
“Excuse me? Oh, sorry Miss Violet, I was too wrapped up in my thoughts right then.”
“That’s fine, Miss Daisy, just saying how you could just put the plate there, and that would be just fine.” The little woman gestured to the wooden table, half covered and dust, the other half with hair.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“What kind are they, Daisy? Chocolate chip? Oh, I do love myself some chocolate chip, sugar. Ha ha!” She laughed as a bird would laugh, if one would laugh.
The laugh got on Daisy’s nerves. “No, Miss Violet, they’re peanut butter.”
“Well, just as good. Did you make them yourself, sweetheart?”
“No, that credit would go to my mother.”
Mrs Violet fiddled with the plate as if it should be just so. Another thought flitted across Daisy’s mind like a leaf: She can’t make the rest of the house just so, so why not just fix the already clean plate. “Well, tell your mother that I’m most obliged. You can see your way out, darlin?”
“Yes, Miss Violet. Thank you.”
“No, thank you, girl. Goodbye!”
Daisy let herself out, the dog tripping her over several times, till they got out on the porch where she gave it’s dwarfy body a well deserved kick, till it scurried off, whining to it’s mistress.
Ms Violet watched Daisy Rae Tompkins walk briskly down the walk, and looked down at Bitsy, who was whimpering at her feet. “Seems as if sweet Daisy Rae isn’t as nice as she looks, eh Bitsy? Did she give you a hurt?” asked She. She picked up a cookie, and fed it to the dog, dumping the rest down the disposal.
She didn’t like peanut butter.
Miss Daisy Rae Tompkins • Opuss № I