Page 26, Line 26 by Jayne Workman
Inspired by Line 26, Page 26 of ‘The Ship Shape’ in ‘Dress your Family in Corduroy and Denim’, David Sedaris.
For sale.
Light fell in strips from the louvred shutters, and the furniture, which was included in the sale, reflecting the taste of a distinguished sea captain. He’d. Have. Loved. That., she thought, staring out to the slatted horizon, dust motes catching their moment in the slices of sun. Hemingway still sold. Even now.
His had been a particular tangle of contradictions and dangerous tendencies, a certain brand of masculinity - giant marlins triumphantly held aloft, father-and-son rifles loosely held and Aran sweaters insouciantly worn, rugged beards and carelessly smoked pipes, a Pulitzer prize lending a golden glow to a tortured soul. His ghost had haunted every room, it had felt to her growing up, The Old Man and the Sea, her father’s great inspiration and struggle, evidenced in every seemingly coincidental whicker chair or casually strewn fishing cap. The iceberg theory in human form.
She breathed in deeply, the woody after-scent catching the back of her throat. For so long, the linger of smoke a warning, a reminder, its unforgettable tarry finish darkening the walls over time. Its residue still there although he wasn’t. Downstairs, heels clattered the heavily varnished boards, pitted with scrapes and gouges, inflicted over decades of family life. Voices floated up the wrought iron balustrade which curled elegantly to the hallway, offering guidance and protection, then opening to the heavy front door, its promise and threat. The business of open homes was already in full sway, “the discipline to tell the truth” lost in a gaudily painted real estate flyer, an irony not lost on her, at least.
Jayne Workman