Along Came A Spider
Chapter One
EARLY ON THE MORNING of December 21, 1992, I was the picture of
contentment on the sun porch of our house on 5th Street in
Washington, D.C. The small, narrow room was cluttered with mildewing
winter coats, work boots, and wounded children's toys. I couldn't
have cared less. This was home.
I was playing Gershwin on our slightly out-of-tune, formerly grand
piano. It was just past 5 A.M., and cold as a meat locker on the
porch. I was prepared to sacrifice a little for "An American in
Paris."
The phone jangled in the kitchen. Maybe I'd won the D.C., or
Virginia, or Maryland lottery and they'd forgotten to call the night
before. I play all three games of misfortune regularly.
"Nana? Can you get that?" I called from the porch.
"It's for you. You might as well get it yourself," my testy
grandmother called back. "No sense me gettin' up, too. No sense
means nonsense in my dictionary."
That's not exactly what was said, but it went something like that.
It always does.
I hobbled into the kitchen, sidestepping more toys on morning-stiff
legs. I was thirty-eight at the time. As the saying goes, if I'd
known I was going to live that long, I would have taken better care
of myself.
The call turned out to ... read full excerpt from: Along Came a Spider ebook
