Indian Summer Afternoon

by Lloyd B. Abrams

With the new baby and all, Manny had to slip outside to grab a smoke. He took another drag and watched Rose Gorelick, down there on the sidewalk, easing her ancient body up from her lawn chair. The shade from the high rise across the street had shifted and he knew that the late afternoon sun was still too much for her.

"Need a hand with that, Mizz G?"

"Nah ... I can handle it." But Manny gently crushed the business end of his Newport against the hot brick, slipped it behind his ear, and popped down to her. He reached for Rose's green and yellow lawn chair, then took her arm and helped her up the eight steps to the landing.

"Thank you Emanuel. By the way ... how's your father?"

The same question, every time. "He's been gone a long time, Mizz G." He kept any annoyance out of his voice.

"Oh. That's too bad. He was a good man. Raised you right."

But so had Rose, especially after Emanuel Sr. was diagnosed with lung cancer and given six months to live but lasted two years, and Rose helped out the best she could, watching Manny and his sister upstairs when they came home from school, making sure they did their homework, making sure they were fed, making sure that they turned out right.

"He sure did. But so did you."

Though confused by his words, Rose still smiled from the fading warmth of her broken memories.

Rev 2 / August 26, 2008

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August, 2008…Copyright © 2008, Lloyd B. Abrams