Ordinary Handsome

And there he is, scurrying for rest.
Jug on the porch, fields unplowed, it’s never a choice. Jeremiah will sit and idle for no good reason, except he had his reasons. Work is not in his bones, never will be. But I love him the way a girl will love a broken kitten. Someone has to look after him, and that falls to me. But Lord, ain’t it tiring. Mama asked me once, why him, and all I could answer was that someone has to love him, and someone has to love me, and we got to loving each other, so it was all right that he was lazy and I wasn’t anything worth putting up a picture on the mantel. He is always tender towards me, and kind. There is meat on the table, sometimes, and he has never once yelled. He sometimes still takes my hand in tenderness and tells me something sweet, or makes me laugh and feel good. So when he scurries for rest, I let him be.
Sometimes I will sit with him and drink a glass of buttermilk, but mostly I sit by myself at the kitchen table and do stitchwork while the sun’s still coming through the screen. Sometimes he’ll put on the radio and we’ll listen together. And I think, these will be the good times I remember of us being together.