Tea and Cornbread

"Bring the tea and cornbread to the front room, Sami dear." Sami's grandmother called over her shoulder as she skirted around a poodle, a blonde terrier, and a Shih Tzu mix who crowded themselves around her legs as she led the way through the almost one-hundred-year-old duplex in a rust-colored argyle shirt, unbuttoned down the front with a white sleeveless undertop beneath, and the faint swish of polyester pants, "Pepe, shoo. All of you, shoo."

Sami eyed the lukewarm tea heavily doused with milk and sugar and the cornbread muffin left over from breakfast. She didn't like the taste of cold cornbread, but she grabbed it anyway and followed her grandmother to the front room where a warm halo of light gathered over an old velvet sofa with tufted cushions. The front door was open to the screen, despite a chill in the air, and the lone light from the church across the street shown through like a feeble beacon.

"Go on, grab some books," Sami's grandmother said taking the tea and cornbread from Sami and placing them on a circular table behind the couch under the yellow glow of the lamp, "Shoo, Mitzi, you can't sit there."

Next to a console hiding a stereo and record player system, Sami ran over to a wall of books precariously balanced on wire shelves. She took but a second to grab three books from the ongoing collection of Book of the Month Club books and raced back over to her grandmother. Jumping up onto the couch, Sami settled against her grandmother's side. The scent of Avon was heavy in the air.

"The favorite three, huh? Okay, which one first?" her grandma asked. Sami tapped on a green book with two rodents walking through a desert, their arms loaded with cactus fruit. "I like this one, too."

Opening the book to the first page, her grandma began to read, "Mouse was a..."