A Little Late

I ran into Morris Mixtleson coming out of the Piggly Wiggly a few minutes ago. He was all dressed up in his church clothes. I asked him how he was doing. His wife passed away a couple of months ago and I haven't talked to him since her burial. He said he didn't know what he was going to do without her. The strange thing is I don't remember him ever saying a kind thing about her while she was alive. In fact the word was out that he treated her like a dog. I don't mean he beat her or anything like that, he just took advantage of her kind nature. Back when he was younger they say he ran around on her. In his later years he just talked down to her and had her waiting on him hand and foot. At least that what was said about them. I reckon you would have to say he provided her with food and shelter, but that's about all. Today he told me he would do anything if he could just talk to her one more time, to tell her he loved her and needed her. That ain't gonna happen.

Tales of Harper, short stories and poems about the fictional town of Harper, Mississippi is available on Amazon Kindle