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Untitled
Marie, my assistant, found a flag folding guide online, but it's for Old Gory herself and I can't follow the prompts. My father's flag has one star and three stripes. When I do give up, I fold the flag neatly over itself. I clear a space on my desk, moving the Fillepo closing papers to the side, and let it slide down my forearm onto the cherry wood.
"Give up?" Marie's head over just past the door frame.
"Oh, yeah. I guess." I rub the rust off one of the rings on the hoist. "It's a two person job, anyway. Two Marine job, certainly."
She lets a shoulder slide into the view and the corner of some papers folded across her stomach. "I can help after lunch."
I remember about the Fillepo closing and grab that stack. "Sure. That would be nice, but lets get this done first." I wave the green folder in the air that held the Fillepo papers. Green for closings. Big closings. "Can you please let Donnie know that we can meet to get ready for the closing."
Donnie arrives with his own set of papers. He catches the empty space on my wall, just above the awkward dracena tree. A rectangle of bright white shines through the yellow buff of the rest of the office. "I can't believe you are getting rid of it. It made this office!"Donnies stretches his arms out, captures everything in the room between his fingertips. "Like on the crime dramas and the commissioner has some old tattered flag framed above his desk. Makes them look all the more veteran." He opens his folders and slide a carbon monoxide affidavit across the desk. "It all looks good on safety."
I glance at the paper. "Yeah sure does." I scribble onto a note pad. "My nephew will like it. The flag, I mean."
"Oh, sure. Has a lot of history to it, right?"
"I think. It was my father's. My mother told me some old lady knitted from Lares knitted it for him. Some little old lady in a flowered smock and rollers in her hair knitting pieces of cotton together because she felt there was still something to say."
Donnie shuffles for another safety check. Smoke detector. "They can always use more culture in...where does your nephew live, again."
"Oswego, New York. Lives with is parents. He is only twelve."
The smoke detector checks out. "Well, what a place to live, I bet. Needs a good legend."
Marie helps me fold the flag into a triangle, but all we can see is the red and the white. She tries one last time to get the bit of blue and two prongs of the central star. She unfurls it, snapping the cotton cloth from her waist. She examines a black splotch on the surface. "Has a lot of history, huh?" Her nail scratches at the mark. I don't tell her it's decades old mosquito guts. Leftover from when I slapped a big one, full and red as a Christmas light, on the surface. I still feel it was an offense, but the insect had the white stripe patterns of the dengue carriers. My mother told me to never take chances on those.
"Yes, it was my father's a supposedly an old seamstress in Lares made it for him when he was a teenager. Lares was this town where there was an uprising against the Spanish in 1868."
"Oh, wow! So it's historical!?"
I focus on the Fillepo papers, pretending I am lost in the fine text. We closed on that three hours ago. "I guess, in a way. Like if you had a flag made by Betsy Ross's great-great-great-great-great niece or something like that." Marie smiles and brings two sides together. Oh, and it's entirely handmade. That's important too."
A week later, my nephew calls me. I have no children of my own, but I still sense the honest excitement in his voice. "Hey, thanks for abo's flag. I will make sure to keep it safe and in the family!"
My mother portrays me father in larger than life colors. He watches over the children sitting right next to God. The new holy foursome: The Father, The Son, The Holy Ghost, and Oscar, my father.
William replies after I just squeezed out a weak, "Oh, sure."
"Did someone once steal the flag and make abo walk back from his school naked and covered in paint to get it? Oh, and did he have it when he stole a bicycle to go see abu at school when they were kids."
I am familiar with the tall tales of my father. I know as much about all that as the woman in Lares. "Oh, I guess. Make sure to ask abu about that. She would know better. Make sure to take good care of the flag, too."
"Mmm hmm. Dad has already put some tacks on the wall in my room so I can hang it up and I am going to try and fold it. It feels real. The flags at scouts feel plasticky."
"Give up?" Marie's head over just past the door frame.
"Oh, yeah. I guess." I rub the rust off one of the rings on the hoist. "It's a two person job, anyway. Two Marine job, certainly."
She lets a shoulder slide into the view and the corner of some papers folded across her stomach. "I can help after lunch."
I remember about the Fillepo closing and grab that stack. "Sure. That would be nice, but lets get this done first." I wave the green folder in the air that held the Fillepo papers. Green for closings. Big closings. "Can you please let Donnie know that we can meet to get ready for the closing."
Donnie arrives with his own set of papers. He catches the empty space on my wall, just above the awkward dracena tree. A rectangle of bright white shines through the yellow buff of the rest of the office. "I can't believe you are getting rid of it. It made this office!"Donnies stretches his arms out, captures everything in the room between his fingertips. "Like on the crime dramas and the commissioner has some old tattered flag framed above his desk. Makes them look all the more veteran." He opens his folders and slide a carbon monoxide affidavit across the desk. "It all looks good on safety."
I glance at the paper. "Yeah sure does." I scribble onto a note pad. "My nephew will like it. The flag, I mean."
"Oh, sure. Has a lot of history to it, right?"
"I think. It was my father's. My mother told me some old lady knitted from Lares knitted it for him. Some little old lady in a flowered smock and rollers in her hair knitting pieces of cotton together because she felt there was still something to say."
Donnie shuffles for another safety check. Smoke detector. "They can always use more culture in...where does your nephew live, again."
"Oswego, New York. Lives with is parents. He is only twelve."
The smoke detector checks out. "Well, what a place to live, I bet. Needs a good legend."
Marie helps me fold the flag into a triangle, but all we can see is the red and the white. She tries one last time to get the bit of blue and two prongs of the central star. She unfurls it, snapping the cotton cloth from her waist. She examines a black splotch on the surface. "Has a lot of history, huh?" Her nail scratches at the mark. I don't tell her it's decades old mosquito guts. Leftover from when I slapped a big one, full and red as a Christmas light, on the surface. I still feel it was an offense, but the insect had the white stripe patterns of the dengue carriers. My mother told me to never take chances on those.
"Yes, it was my father's a supposedly an old seamstress in Lares made it for him when he was a teenager. Lares was this town where there was an uprising against the Spanish in 1868."
"Oh, wow! So it's historical!?"
I focus on the Fillepo papers, pretending I am lost in the fine text. We closed on that three hours ago. "I guess, in a way. Like if you had a flag made by Betsy Ross's great-great-great-great-great niece or something like that." Marie smiles and brings two sides together. Oh, and it's entirely handmade. That's important too."
A week later, my nephew calls me. I have no children of my own, but I still sense the honest excitement in his voice. "Hey, thanks for abo's flag. I will make sure to keep it safe and in the family!"
My mother portrays me father in larger than life colors. He watches over the children sitting right next to God. The new holy foursome: The Father, The Son, The Holy Ghost, and Oscar, my father.
William replies after I just squeezed out a weak, "Oh, sure."
"Did someone once steal the flag and make abo walk back from his school naked and covered in paint to get it? Oh, and did he have it when he stole a bicycle to go see abu at school when they were kids."
I am familiar with the tall tales of my father. I know as much about all that as the woman in Lares. "Oh, I guess. Make sure to ask abu about that. She would know better. Make sure to take good care of the flag, too."
"Mmm hmm. Dad has already put some tacks on the wall in my room so I can hang it up and I am going to try and fold it. It feels real. The flags at scouts feel plasticky."
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I imagine this would make a better scene than story. Just need a few colons and screen instructions! PEACE!
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