Ramona

Empty glasses in her hands

Some old monogrammed ice pick

It’s icy out

She comes forward with more drinks

With each downed drink-she gets hard as nails

Pauses to drink-raises her glass to think

She slides off her couch

And onto her knees

Looking under the table for her keys

Front door suddenly flies open

Wake up! Wake up!

“Ramona?”

“Mama?”

Ramona is awake!

“I was a nice girl,” she pleads,” Wasn’t I?”

EVA SANTIAGO copyright 2013

Altered Book: Nine Stories/J.D.Salinger