Jawani Deewani
Come on up mom.” He said as crawled up into the shack.Pamela climbed up after her son and was relieved to be out of the pelting rain.The place was small, fits few people standing up. There was a bare bed in one corner and a plastic cooler at its foot. There were a couple of chairs too. The shack had low windows on all side. Probably so that somebody can look outside while sitting in the chair.Pamela was starting to feel cold. Her clothes were soaked all the way thru and she started to shiver.Bobby on the other hand was very alert. His survival instinct had kicked in full force. He looked around hoping to find something useful to use.He opened the plastic cooler to find it full of sheets and blankets.“Just blankets.” He announced disappointedly.He looked back at his mother and saw her lower jaw starting to shake. She was cold.“Mom, are you ok?”“Cold...” She could barely talk. The adrenaline that charged her body after the accident had completely diminished now leaving her exhausted. He was ten years older than me. So, I was twenty when I marriedhim. Already at thirty, he had this salt and pepper hair that makes women lookunkempt but makes men look sophisticated and dangerous. So he was, I was laterto find out. Sophisticated in his tastes, from food or drink, nothing was tooforeign, strange or disgusting for him not to try. With him, I developed ataste for exotic foods, frog legs, escargots, and monk fish liver. You name it,the more potent the flavor, the more he craved it; and with him, so did I.His taste for liquor was just aseclectic as his food choices. Not just the single malt Scotch or small batchBourbon that the cognoscenti rave about. He had Absinthe brought over fromSlovakia, Raki from Turkey, and a particularly favored Grappa-like drink fromsome place in Spain.I grew up in Omaha, Nebraska, asMiddle America as apple pie and biscuits. That may have been what attracted me,at twenty, to this man, so much my senior. He entered my life like a tornado,sweeping.
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