Miss Travers

A story by THERESA CORELLA

Urs. Patterson held the empty triangular garbage container off to her side. She approached her neighbor's fence when Mrs. Malone came from out of the neighboring house, letting the screen door slam behind her.

"Morning," Mrs. Patterson said, putting a smile in place of the adjective. "How you been?"

She scratched the palm of her hand on the tip of the picket and watched Mrs. Malone's approach. Her neighbor's legs were not vertical; they came abruptly from her house slippers and formed a kind of conio opening between them.

"D'ju know? Miss Travers died last night. Wont in her sleep," said Mrs. Malone.

The woman's announcement was so abrupt that Mrs. Patterson had to take a moment to receive it.

"Ooooh nooooh!" She pursed her lips and cast the greasy garbage container toward the iris bed. She watched Mrs. Malone relentlessly, staring at her morbidly as though death had tossed the coin in Malone's house.

"Such a good girl she was too. So quiet and nice. Well, we all got to go sometime, I 'xpect," she said in a tone that was not convincing. "But how? What happened?"

"Mommy!" Patsy, Mrs. Patterson's five year old, tugged at her skirts. "Mommy, lookit! Lookit the butterfly!! It looks like a flower flying.'

"Let me tell you right now, she was a peculiar one she was," said Mrs. Malone. "But I don't know..she was really very nice. One of the best tenants we ever had, come to think of it." She looked, for a moment, surprised.

"Miss Travers?" Patsy didn't understand too much of what

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