Jefferson and Tracy’s house is quiet. They are both at Fresno State University most of the time, between teaching, taking classes, and their assorted duties as an advisor for the campus newspaper (Jefferson) and d.j. at the radio station (Tracy).
“You ask me to hold you. That’s the devil’s work.”
The three of us are listening to The Mountain Goats in the front room. This is the bond that Jefferson and I made initially, not four months ago. It’s hard to think that I’ve only known him for such a short time; his low key, deep questioning nature has anchored me more than a few times already.
When I get home I find him in the backyard raking up leaves. We make dinner and sit down and talk about the singers he can’t stand. Jeff Tweedy (he’s not the first to confess this particular distaste to me). When Tracy comes home we find that all of us are at a loss without the use of the internet, as it’s been off and on for the past two days.
This house has two bedrooms, two restrooms, and an office, which I am sleeping in. It’s strange to go from couches, out in the middle of all the action, to a closed off space that you can easily make private by merely shutting the door. I woke up this morning with a headache. My eye was quivering. I think the weather is finally changing a bit.
In the back of the house is a little box. It’s for the bees living inside the walls of the house. Jefferson and Tracy had someone come out to get rid of the bees, and they are doing it the peaceful way, with a box and a teddy bear-shaped plastic container of honey.
There is a huge bookshelf in the front room. Jefferson is trying to be more like Ben Franklin—being able to share and give away books in the style of a library. Nothing is static, and in that way the idea is permanent.
Give away, and you only serve to gain.
Posted by Aurora at 7:20 AM