When her son was young, he was a collector of curious objects. While her daughter combed the beach for long, slender cone shells and heart-shaped rocks, he was drawn to the oddities of imperfect fruit and vegetables — samples of which he kept in foul-smelling plastic bins she discovered during her weekly vacuum — skinned tennis balls, and placemats from the local Chinese restaurant signed and dated by the wait staff.
One morning, she began to wonder if he’d moved on to yet another hobby when she came across a dragonfly that had died on their back deck. A small wooden cross had been erected beside its body. Before she could remove it, her son pushed past her, his Polaroid camera poised. He took the picture, pulling the tab and counting down. “I love the light of early dawn,” he said, kicking the dragonfly between the wooden slats.
READER
Caucasian female, early 60s, with short blond hair, wearing glasses, tan coat, white collared shirt, and pale green silk scarf.
The Sweet Edge
Alison Pick
(Raincoast Books, 2005)
p 153