Spit

Spit(spit)
SPIT

EXT: RUTH’S(ro͝oTH) BACKYARD(ˌbakˈyärd)

Ruth is standing on her porch(pôrCH), watching the sunset.

RUTH

I used to spit when I was a little girl. You know that moment, when your mouth fills up with too much phlegm(flem)? You’re running as fast you can, flying through the wheat((h)wēt
) fields(fēld), all knees(nē) and elbows(ˈelˌbō), and you just want to see that wad(wäd) of mucus(ˈmyo͞okəs) go soaring(sôr) over the brown(broun) stalks(stôk), streak(strēk) toward the sunset?

Not that we said “mucus” when I was a little girl, or “phlegm” for that matter. We didn’t have any word for it at all. Except “Don’t.” That’s all Mama used to say, anyway. It was almost always followed by, “That’s not ladylike(ˈlādēˌlīk). Who’s going to want you, dressing(ˈdresiNG) like that?” It turns out running wasn’t ladylike either, legs and arms akimbo(əˈkimbō) and dresses smudged(sməj) with dirt(dərt). I learned to walk with careful steps, and to tsk softly when grass(gras) stains(stān) smudged the hem(hem) of my skirt(skərt).

I thought it would be different when I married Daniel(ˈdanyəl). The first night, bursting with the freedom of it-me, alone with my husband(ˈhəzbənd), in our very own home!-I leaped(lēp) onto the bed and bounced the mattress(ˈmatrəs), good and hard. I remember his lips pressing(ˈpresiNG) together, flat(flat) and unyielding(ˌənˈyēldiNG) as the ground he worked year after year. The way his mouth worked around the words like they were marbles(ˈmärbəl), dropping to the ground: “Doris, stop acting like a child. You’re a grown(ɡrōn) woman.”

I slapped my daughters silly(ˈsilē) when they went out of the house without girdle(ˈgərdl), hose(hōz), gloves(gləv). When they did cartwheels(ˈkärtˌ(h)wēl) in skirts, chewed(CHo͞o) gum(gəm), or laughed(laf) in church(CHərCH). They were serious(ˈsi(ə)rēəs), sober(ˈsōbər) girls. They made good marriages(ˈmarij). Their children were quiet(ˈkwīət).

Mama’s been in the ground for decades(ˈdekād). Daniel passed fourteen(ˈfôrˌtēn,ˌfôrˈtēn) years ago next April(ˈāprəl). Nobody’s wanted me in all that time, no matter how I dress. Last week I was having a cup of tea by the window while my granddaughter visited for Easter(ˈēstər) weekend. I looked out and saw my eldest(ˈeldəst) great-granddaughter flying through the wheat fields behind the barn(bärn), her hands batting(bat) away the stalks. She was wearing her nice, white dress and the ribbons on her sleeves(slēv) were streaming behind her, catching in the last golden rays(rā) of the sunset.

For a moment there was warmth on my face and wind in my hair. Heavy(ˈhevē) heads of grain(grān) snagged(snag) on my sleeves(slēv) and grass swished(swiSH) against my legs. But only for a moment. That’s all it was.

(Spits forcefully on the ground. Exits(ˈegzit,ˈeksit).)

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