PLACES; Eight Place Stories
Page 6
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After the bulldozer, which was gone by evening, nothing more happened for a week. The waiting ate at Ed, though. It was like waiting for a predicted earthquake or avalanche and kept him cranky. Marge seldom complained, exactly, but she did occasionally try to bring him out of it.
“For heaven’s sake, even if all the tracts sold and everybody put up big, ugly mansions and drove Hummers, that’s not going to affect what we do on our land or how we live.”
“I know that,” he snapped. “But who likes to have stupid neighbors who represent the worst in this sick and degenerate culture?”
“Well, maybe our example will change their values. Look on it as an opportunity to improve the world.”
“Yeah, sure.” Ed knew he shouldn’t be so negative, and knew he wasn’t much fun to be around, but couldn’t shake off the morose mood. The reality of what was happening continually sucked on his thoughts.
Over the next few weeks, Ed began to notice himself becoming forgetful. Little things at first, like going in to brush his teeth after breakfast, and finding the toothbrush wet from brushing a few minutes before. One sunny morning two weeks after the bulldozer, he set out to milk the goats at six, and made it halfway to the barn before remembering they hadn’t had goats for over a year. That really rattled him. He didn’t tell Marge.