An Art

An Art stormy stipe Photo by Jason Nelson 116 the Missouri revieW / Winter 2006 fiction We'll hide here," my sister Helen said, and pulled me onto a bed of pine straw under the fence at the edge of the ditch. We watched my mother drive slowly through the puddles of our driveway. The rainwater sprayed out from the tires. My mother looked straight ahead, at the house. She'd left us home alone, which she rarely did, to pick up the mail in Dixie. The mail carrier had died of a brain aneurysm, and they hadn't found a replacement yet. It had taken no more than twenty minutes for my mother to make the trip. My older brother, Hal, had smeared ketchup on the floor of the front room, smudged a wad of his own dark hair and several strands the Missouri revieW / Winter 2006 117 of my sister's along the edges, and run out the back door. He was hiding in the tractor-shed yard. My mother parked the car in front of the house, at a diagonal to accommodate the overgrown azaleas. She yelled hello as she stepped out of the car and made her way toward the http://www.deepdyve.com/assets/images/DeepDyve-Logo-lg.png The Missouri Review University of Missouri

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Publisher
University of Missouri
Copyright
Copyright © 2006 by The Curators of the University of Missouri.
ISSN
1548-9930
Publisher site
See Article on Publisher Site

Abstract

stormy stipe Photo by Jason Nelson 116 the Missouri revieW / Winter 2006 fiction We'll hide here," my sister Helen said, and pulled me onto a bed of pine straw under the fence at the edge of the ditch. We watched my mother drive slowly through the puddles of our driveway. The rainwater sprayed out from the tires. My mother looked straight ahead, at the house. She'd left us home alone, which she rarely did, to pick up the mail in Dixie. The mail carrier had died of a brain aneurysm, and they hadn't found a replacement yet. It had taken no more than twenty minutes for my mother to make the trip. My older brother, Hal, had smeared ketchup on the floor of the front room, smudged a wad of his own dark hair and several strands the Missouri revieW / Winter 2006 117 of my sister's along the edges, and run out the back door. He was hiding in the tractor-shed yard. My mother parked the car in front of the house, at a diagonal to accommodate the overgrown azaleas. She yelled hello as she stepped out of the car and made her way toward the

Journal

The Missouri ReviewUniversity of Missouri

Published: Mar 6, 2006

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