Bitter Old Lady From Pasadena - Cloze

by William Christison

Fill in all the gaps with the missing words, then press "Check" to check your answers. Use the "Hint" button to get a free letter if an answer is giving you trouble. You can also click on the "[?]" button to get a clue. Click the this button again for another letter. You can also click on "[?]" for a different hint. Note that you will lose points if you ask for hints or clues! After this activity click on "Next Activity" above.
Rellena los espacios en blanco con las palabras que faltan. Haz click en "Check" para comprobar tus aciertos. Si te resulta difícil la respuesta utiliza el botón "Hint" y te revelará una letra de la casilla en la que te encuentres, puedes clickear varias veces en "Hint" y te dará cada vez una letra más de la palabra. Para obtener ayuda también puedes clickear en el botón "[?]" y te dará una pista. Perderás puntos con las pistas. Si quieres continuar con otra actividad, haz click en el botón "Next Activity" que aparece arriba.

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Old Lady From Pasadena

You’ll come back… to The ! I pull the magazine from the seat pocket, by chance it is to the page. There is nothing familiar in the , except, perhaps, the lobby. I lower the tray, take my coffee and out into the stratosphere. It is September 1974. Old Mr and Mrs Davis, the consummate , are over the desk. Not a car under the escapes their eyes. East Colorado Boulevard is just going to . Towels are bad enough, but the of a TV really them, thrown as it was through the bathroom window of number 26. my long hair, they give me the job. Maintenance. Changing , cleaning the pool, mattresses. Probably afraid the next guy through the door will be darker than me. I began just after the , or was it the pardon? “Nixon’s a , but McGovern . . .,” the Mister says one day to a pair of Legionnaires. , winks.

Maid carts outside the laundry room at break time. Maly, from Cambodia, down the walk, handles slapping palmettos, on her heels, Margot the Dutch maid pinch-browed and . Virginia follows, nonchalantly, her full dusky always a welcome sight from the balcony. She doesn’t speak a word of English, young Lourdes, a doll herself, who insists on teaching her. Virginia reads from the back of a laundry list, “I need more shit, pleases”. Lourdes and Rose, phone cradled to ear, waves her clipboard and them. Mrs Davis wants a second face cloth count. “We’re two short.. yes, that’s right,” she tells her, eyes . Rose is the head . She has the face of a Quaker and a heart of gold. “Life is too short,” she says under her breath as she up. The year before, she watched her twin sister away with cancer, now Rose belonged to the Hemlock Society. The walls of the little room are lined to the ceiling with of toilet paper, plastic cups, and sacks of used soaps the Davis’s are saving; in the back, a percolator and the air is sweet with the scent of glycerine and freshly coffee. An old woman in a starched white uniform forward on a stool. When she a match from the corner where she sits, the flare illuminates the flinty eyes and mouth of someone whom, over the decades, I’d nearly, but not completely forgotten. With her long grey hair pinned loosely into a and the black sweater shawl-like over her shoulders, she might be lighting up a lamp on Gunsmoke, instead of a Camel. Agnes Darkens. She stares past the girls now, her head to an old transistor crackling on the counter behind her. Ali KOs Foreman in Kinshasa.. 3 die in Compton blaze. Rival youth gangs for a second night. Traffic update in 5. She , then snorts, smoke pouring through her nostrils. A few feet away by the door, Loretta, a light-skinned black from Altadena, peels an orange. The rind snakes down onto a swollen her white pantsuit can no longer hide. A guest passes by on the walk and . “That’s good for you, now.” Loretta chuckles, “Yeah, I know, I know.” When Loretta arrives late these days, Agnes her tongue. Later, when a man with two small girls in a beat-up Roadrunner Loretta up after work, she clicks it again. “You sound like the tomato bugs in my garden,” Rose and, for a second, the old woman glimmers a smile. Loretta work a few days and soon stops coming . A week passes, a new maid is hired, then, when Rose hears Loretta has been in hospital, she’s back the next day with a get well card. Mrs. Davis told me Loretta’s brother is coming to pick up her , she says, we’ll this in with it. The card is passed from one to another, Lourdes dictates a few words to her friend, Maly something, Margot sighs then hands it to Agnes who, looking up, waves it away with a click of her tongue. “What on would I write,” she , “thanks for having another jig?”

Loretta never came back. A couple of days after that we word both she and the infant had died and for the of my employ, until just after Christmas, around the time Virginia got deported, Rose and Agnes never a word.

Copyright 2008 by William A. Christison.