A page turns.
Tick, tock, tick, tock.
The tea pot whistles.
Shuffle, shuffle, shuffle. The opening of a cabinet door. The clink of china on china.
Shuffle, shuffle, shuffle. The creak of a divan.
A pair of brown eyes look up from Courier font to watch the rim of a dainty china tea cup disappear behind lips stained with Instant Mocha. Amazingly enough, the way she curves her lips over the rim makes it impossible for any of the lipstick to come off.
The eyes return to the book and, while there are still 30 minutes left of reading time, reading is an absolute joy, and with over 1000 books in the house, there is something for everyone.
Tick, tock, tick, tock. Another page turns.
The kitchen door busts open and in walks muscles and angled jaw line.
"Hey, kids! Watcha up to?" a voice hollers. All attention is centered on the broad shoulders plowing through the kitchen and into the living room where the divans hold two little girls, one mother, and one grandmother.
"I fixed the light switch in the garage and stopped at Mike's for some watermelon. I took your car to get the oil changed and got to talkin' to the preacher's wife. Did you know Mrs. (So-and-so) broke her hip? Geez is that gonna be difficult for her kids."
Swoosh! He sits down in the arm chair, his eyes snapping with energy. "What are y'all doing? What's going on tonight? Oh!" He pops back up. "I forgot to get y'all a new television. I'll be back."
The kitchen door slams.
My grandmother looks at my mother and raises an eyebrow. "I guess he didn't need any answers to his questions."
Eyes go back to books.
That was my uncle. My mother's baby brother. The bull in my grandmother's china cabinet. I don't think he would've appreciated reading time.
He took care of things. And of people. He calls. He would walk across a highway if he saw you on the other side just to ask how you did. I think Ben Franklin really used the blood in my uncle's veins to make electricity.
He was larger than life to me, always busy, always in the middle of it all, and he looked so much like Superman, or Clark Kent, or Christopher Reeve, whichever.
I'll call him Uncle Clark. So, one quick question -- What the heck is a divan? I always looked for them in Grandmother's living room. I still haven't found them.