Chapter 11

11
SAN DIEGO

Martha Stratton fumbled with two bags of groceries, nodding to the bus driver as she stepped out into the darkness. The rain had let up, but promised to resume its day long depressing drizzle at any moment. She felt the bottoms of the paper bags apprehensively as she started down the dark street.

The sidewalks were broken up here by the tree roots, each crack collecting just enough water to overtop the soles of her shoes. "Oh well," she thought, "I'll be home soon enough."

She knew what awaited her. She had exactly eighty five cents left of the money she had taken for shopping. Martha had calculated to the penny what the food would cost, leaving just enough to buy Buck a half pint of cheap bourbon. She had wanted to get two dozen eggs instead of one, but saved the money for bus fare.

It was only a block and and a half to the park entrance. She could see the lone naked light bulb dangling in front of the sign at the gate of the trailer park. Purdy Places Mobile Home Estates had been built by old Frank Purdy years ago. His widow Annie was still theoretically managing the place, but her daughter and her drunken boyfriend were the real power around the park. It seemed like the more he drank, the more trash there was everywhere.

Martha made her way along the muddy street to number 17. Walking into the trailer space past Buck's twelve year old pick up, she paused to scrape her shoes on the steps of the tiny stoop. It made sense to try to leave as much mud as possible outside.

She carefully tapped on the door, being unable to manage the handle with the bags in her hands. She tapped once more softly. It was starting to rain again. Finally, she set one bag down on the step and opened the door for herself. Instantly upon hitting the wet wood, the bottom of the grocery sack split open, releasing the results of her careful shopping in a cascade of articles rolling down the slanting steps.

Stepping inside, she placed the remaining sack on the crowded kitchen counter, and turned to retrieve the rest from the front steps. "Close the damned door! It's a gettin' cold in here!" came Buck Stratton's voice over the too loud noise of the football game peeking out of the tiny black and white television in front of him.

Martha stepped back onto the rainy stoop to collect her runaway food in the dishpan then made her way as quietly as possible back to the tiny kitchen. "Ain't we gonna eat no dinner tonight? Its already seven o'clock." came the voice from the main room of the trailer. "Did yew spend all of them donations? Twenty-five dollars shore oughta be enough to buy more n' them two skimpy little bags of food, seems to me."

Martha had already started to heat the skillet. "No, honey, there's a little bit left. I bought a pork chop for your dinner. You know how important it is to keep your strength up." she said as she quickly put away the groceries.

Retrieving the half-pint, she slipped into the living room behind his chair. Kissing him on the top of his balding head, she slipped the bottle into his hand.

"Woman! Don't yew ever do that. If there's gonna be kissin around here, the man's a gonna start it up. I don't need no Jezebel being no sireene, distractin' me from my holy work. Now, quit that nonsense and git my dinner ready. After this game's over yew gotta find some stuff in the Good Book for my sermon tomorrow."