a continuation of a story first introduced here (including disclaimer info).
Jana was understandably tired. She maintained a practice of standing or pacing while talking to Bernie. To sit would only allow the frustration to fester and build without an outlet. But with her growing belly, where all twenty-two of the pregnancy weight she had put on had landed, both pacing and standing took a toll after a short while. As she listened to her mother describe other things she had discovered in the “1997” boxes, Jana rested her hand gently on the top of her protruding mid-section. She was due in three months and her mother had no idea that she would soon be a grandmother. As if on cue, she felt a flutter emanate from deep inside her gut.
When Jana was six, her mother had “the public nightmare.” At the age of 48, in the middle of a Sheraton lobby, Bernie let out a blood-curdling scream and cried out, “So help me god, if this is a baby and not a tumor, I will kill you!” It was almost exactly two years before the day Jana would withhold candy from her diabetic mother, and it was the first time she started to see how other people saw her mother. They were in Las Vegas for a convention; actually, Bernie had brought Jana there because she had heard that a furrier convention was scheduled and since Bernie had never met an actual furrier, she thought it was about time. So, off they went, in March and during the week that everyone else in Jana’s class was taking the statewide reading and math tests, in search of people who shot, killed, and skinned animals for their fur.
and that’s all folks! that’s as far as I got last year. it was slow going, but fun doing. I may pick it up again because I want to know what happens with these two…