The Edification Of Sonya Crane
Hi, man, Sonya hated Tuesdays. She hated doing what she had to do.
As usual, she heard her mother as she clacked through the hallway in her stiletto heels and crisp black business suit. Her mother would straighten things that are already straight and hum her anxious Tuesday hum.Today the sunlight streamed through the bare fifteen-foot windows,the harsh light cutting across the glossy cement floors. Sonya sat on the couch with her arms folded across her chest, staring straight ahead—staring at nothing. Sonya's mother shuffled across the room awkwardly in her high heels and sat next to Sonya. Her mother scratched her arm and smiled tightly, looking up at Sonya pleading like a puppy.
"Damnit! What?" Sonya said without turning to look at Doris Crane. She bit off the t in "what" making the sound scissor sharp. The shelf that held the crystal vase was now empty. Each week Sonya came home to find something missing, something sold or, more likely, traded by her mother. Last week it was the plasma television.The week before, it was the painting above the living room mantel. "I'm, I'm, " Her mother reaches to stroke Sonya's hair, but sh ... read full excerpt from The Edification of Sonya Crane ebook
