Cain

 

October 26, 2021

Put on a shiny yellow shirt– like a sports uniform top-- that I’ve had for decades and never worn. It’s smooth and comforting against the skin. Trying to figure out why I never wore it. I imagine long neglected garments sighing with relief when they’re finally pulled out of the drawer. 

News report of an Ingles employee fleeing from and being shot at by a perp at Ingle’s on Merrimon. I in fact heard the shots– 4: 2, space, then 2 more–and wondered what was happening. Life in the city. 

Took my newly delivered phone to the Spectrum office at the Mall, where my data was transferred by a charming young man named Cain, who just graduated from Pisgah High (we commiserated on the loss of his senior year of football) and, having landed the job with the phone people, bought a house near his parents in Haywood County. I tell people I don’t miss the university, and it’s true, except for the parade of young people past my desk, their various beauties and strengths and webs of dreams. When I got back to the car I prayed mightily for the continued well being of curly-headed and cologne effusing Cain.