Harper climbs the fence, straddling the railing while he kicks off rubber snake boots, setting his toes free to wiggle and probe. He hoists himself up into the loins of the Tupelo tree looming large in front of Mamie's floating shack. His phalanges grip grey furrowed bark and he scampers up its trunk with the agility of a feral spider monkey. Gnats encircle his head clambering for morsels of sweat, pus, and blood.
Mamie watches her wayward son from below, knowing nothing she says will keep him down, keep him home. She is grateful that he will accept food from her, that she catches a glimpse of him from time to time maneuvering along the switchback of Bald Cypress, Tupelo, and Pumpkin Ash trees. The sentinels of the swamp his refuge.
Today Harper has descended from the canopy. Her birthday. She prepares a jambalaya with shrimp and andouille sausage, onion, okra and celery; heavily dousing the dish with cayenne. Smoke infused with the piquant aroma forces its way deep into the bayou cajoling him home. Mello Yello if he touches right down onto the porch, she promises.
The last flood took his pa away. The pneumonia swift and decisive. Damned near put her under too. Mamie sent Harper up into the trees high above the swelling waters where he would be safe. Didn't expect the adaptations to take such a fierce hold though. Harper's new proclivities an improvement to be sure. Prehensile tail now fully formed.
She packs up the leftovers in the checkered tablecloth and Harper ascends back up into the trees; her heart tucked warm under his jersey.
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'The New Normal' was originally published in Cease, Cows on 26 March 2020.
Great, Karen!
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