Meredith Delaney Cunningham

window breeze curtain

I had told this boy the same thing that I tell everybody else. He came by, stopped over, and was looking at all the tables. I told him the prices were marked: on this table $15, on this table $12, on this table $10. The prices were for all the crystals accordingly. And he was with his son, a little one, and they were looking at all the specimens. All the crystals, every one of them had been from here, from Mr. Ida, and they are nowhere like this anyplace else in the world. “God,” I told him, just like I told everybody, “made you perfect just the way you are. Ugly or beautiful, just the way you are, God makes everything in this world already perfect.” I wrapped his up in newspaper while the little boy of his had wandered off to the cleaning station where we had hoses and chemicals. I had warned him, the father, to keep his boy clear from that, where we had my husband and I five gallon buckets full of water and oxalic acid sitting in the sunshine to clean up the rocks before selling them. You don’t want to fool around at all with that stuff. 5 grams of it will kill your kidneys and that will be the end of you. The police that came by said he was one of the most wanted men in America. They hadn’t said why that was, nor had I told them that he seemed like a perfectly good father to me which I reckoned wasn’t any of their business.

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