Epiphora

Epiphora EPIPHORA/Tara Cottrell N THE SPRING, I moved from an apartment near the university into a rented house on the scrubby southeast edge of Tucson. In deciding on the house, I'd focused on small things I liked: white hexagonal tile set in black grout in the bathroom, a bedroom closet I could lie down in. The scope of something as large and crucial as location was well beyond me, and so I found myself in the kind of neighborhood where everyone has dogs but nobody walks them. I heard them all the time, barking, howling, carrying on in their penned yards. I knew a couple of the neighbors. Steve next door worked a night shift somewhere--I'd hear his truck rattle into his driveway around five most mornings. Across the narrow street from me lived Candace. Candace was about three hundred pounds, with the arms of an overfed baby. It was hard to tell how old she was, the way it sometimes is with the very fat. When I moved in we had a short conversation about the shoes I was wearing. She wanted to know where I got them. "Italy," I said, which was a lie. "Oh," she crowed, 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 © 2004 by The Curators of the University of Missouri.
ISSN
1548-9930
Publisher site
See Article on Publisher Site

Abstract

EPIPHORA/Tara Cottrell N THE SPRING, I moved from an apartment near the university into a rented house on the scrubby southeast edge of Tucson. In deciding on the house, I'd focused on small things I liked: white hexagonal tile set in black grout in the bathroom, a bedroom closet I could lie down in. The scope of something as large and crucial as location was well beyond me, and so I found myself in the kind of neighborhood where everyone has dogs but nobody walks them. I heard them all the time, barking, howling, carrying on in their penned yards. I knew a couple of the neighbors. Steve next door worked a night shift somewhere--I'd hear his truck rattle into his driveway around five most mornings. Across the narrow street from me lived Candace. Candace was about three hundred pounds, with the arms of an overfed baby. It was hard to tell how old she was, the way it sometimes is with the very fat. When I moved in we had a short conversation about the shoes I was wearing. She wanted to know where I got them. "Italy," I said, which was a lie. "Oh," she crowed,

Journal

The Missouri ReviewUniversity of Missouri

Published: Oct 8, 2004

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