Carrie on

There's no room to stretch or adjust. I'm not even certain there's furniture to sit on. The teevee has dials that clunk clunk clunk and a smooth one too that adjusts the picture. This isn't cable, and if the wind blows too hard, we won't get to watch anything until Daddy can get back on the roof. Dallas is on, hot air popcorn and coca colas on the TV room floor. We watched Dallas every Friday night. I think it was Friday; maybe it was Saturday....whichever day, or night, our family watched together. Every week. I must have been young, and I can't believe my parents even allowed us to witness the exploits of J.R. Ewing, but they did, and we did, and we loved it. Every week there were warnings and there were threats. "Okay. If you can't be quiet, you're going out." "Now be quiet, commercials are over. Watch that drink!" "I can't hear." "Make her be quiet!" "STOP ASKING QUESTIONS AND JUST WATCH!...

The left thumb. That’s the sucking one. I know, because right now she’s sitting beside me, face cool with concentration, index finger almost touching her nose, almost. Her right hand holds Ninnie’s (Minnie Mouse’s) arm. Her fingers work the flimsy arm back and forth, mindlessly knitting at the graying pink fur. Her index finger reaches up and touches her nose. She readjusts and begins again.