Weird
I was over my moms this evening.
“I want to show you something. It’s weird.”
“Weird? How?”
She was leading me to the far side of the the balcony.
“Oh. We can’t see it from here.”
“What? What’s weird.”
When my mom uses the word, weird. It is rather unsettling. It’s not like us younguns who casually toss it off. It’s disturbing.
We head upstairs for a better look.
“What’s weird? What is it?”
She won’t tell me. She wants to show me. We look out the window into the small briar patch between the houses.
“Do you remember the chairs that your Tita Mina brought over? I think that’s one of them there.” [In the woods]
Creepy. Who would’ve done that. How? Why?
“Gabe said that there were homeless living in the Haunted Woods by school.”
I don’t think this put up by a homeless man. There’s kids playing in the backyard. They could’ve set up the chair as part of their ‘fort.’
Still, the chair sits in the vegetation waiting for someone to sit in it.
