“Would anyone like to say somethin’?” Stacy asked the group.
I shook my head, so did Jose.
Stacy looked at her little brother Stevie.
“Do it, Steve.”
“I don’t wanna,” Stevie muttered.
“Fine,” Stacy grumbled.
She bent down and laid the dead kitten—wrapped in paper towel—in the shallow grave we dug on the side of her front porch.
Knees bent, Stacy eulogized, “We’ll never forget you, Athena.”
Jose was emotionless.
Stevie teared up.
Stacy looked up at me and commanded, “It’s your turn to give up shoelaces for the cross.”
“Athena was Christian?” I quipped.
Everyone laughed, except Stacy.
A nice example of the role of culture in writing. I had to do some goggle searching and I’m not sure I really understand the shoelace thing yet, but I did learn that you can buy shoe laces with Bible scripture imprinted on them. Fun! Thank you for stretching my horizon a little bit today, Alex.
Benita