Telling Tales out of School: Part II

When We Were Very Young

When I was two years old, I lived in a three-story apartment building, built in 1912. It had a total of six apartments, each arranged shotgun-style, with covered front and back porches, a living room, bedroom, dining room—which doubled as a playroom—kitchen, and bathroom. My father had made shelves for my toys using the redwood planks from an old picnic table and some empty #3 cans; he drank tomato juice by the half-gallon. He taught me how to choose a toy, play with it, and put it back in its place, which was labelled and had a picture of the toy.

An old woman lived by herself, directly across the street from us, in a compact house. She was proud of her property. Her house was always tidy, and the front third of her yard, which she had transformed into guest parking, was covered in fine, green gravel. She was out each morning, like clockwork, touching up any stray white stones with a can of grass-coloured spray paint.