Dateline: July 27, 2010, Wasilla, Alaska.
“It looks like she passed away around 4:30,” Al said, holding his neighbor’s just-deceased cat, and looking at the clock on the wall.
“No,” Neighbor #1 replies, wiping her eyes with her kleenex. “That clock doesn’t work. It’s almost 8:30.”
“Oh,” says Al, looking out the window of the second-floor apartment and seeing what appears to be afternoon light in the treetops. Funny how the Alaskan summer sun still throws the perception of time out of balance.
“Can you give us a ride to the hospital? My wife just cut her finger open,” yells unemployed car-less Neighbor #2, suddenly appearing at the open front door. His wife screams from somewhere down below. Neighbor #3, a former police deputy, instinctively gets up to help, but Neighbor #4 says, “I’ve got this one,” and hops off the couch and out the door behind #2. He looks comfortable in his shorts and t-shirt in the mid-40s temperature, as Al shivers.
As they run out the door, Neighbor #5, just home from her job at Carr’s, stands in the doorway, looks around, sees three neighbors and a dead cat in the apartment next to hers, and doesn’t seem to know what she should say or do ...
books by alvin
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