Mornings, this autumn, I see the girls skipping past on their way to school, and my heart lifts at the sound of their bright voices. I live at the end of Locust Street in a onestory frame house with a porch that wraps around the side. If visitors know me, they knock on the side door when they come, aware that I spend most of my time in the dining room where I have my television set and the oak drop-leaf table I inherited from my mother, and the rocking chair, reupholstered now, that belonged to my father. I sit at the table working a crossword. The television is on for the noise, usually some sort of news show on CNN because I like to keep up to date. I may be on the far side of eighty, but I’m not dead yet. The world can still amaze me.
"Winesburg, Indiana: Miss Gladys,"
9, Article 3.
Available at: http://digitalcommons.butler.edu/booth/vol4/iss9/3