Channel 6 in Summer

Channel 6 in Summer Ron Day A "Zucchini people? Mamaw, what in the world are you talking about?" Alafair eased the pan of beans onto the step and turned. She'd been off in space for a moment, surprised that she was really back here after all this time, and had not been paying attention to her grandmother's story. Mally had so sel39 dorn been coherent this weekend that Alafair had caught herself daydreaming. "We read that paper had Shelly Winters on it and hit had a story about invasion of the zucchini people and I thought hit'd be 'bout space people or something but hit was just about them vegetarians . . . " Alafair waited for Mally to finish her story. She figured that it was best not to try to complete her sentences for her. Best to just let her finish and not expect it to always make sense. Her mother, Fay Lewis, let the screen door slam behind her as she came back out on the porch with a fresh load of beans. She sat one step above her daughter so she could string the beans and then toss them down into the pan beside Alafair. She scolded Mally over her shoulder. "Ma, if she wants to know what's in that paper, it's laying on the table. She can read it later. ' Pulling a double handful of beans onto her lap, Fay tightened the old towel she'd spread across her legs to hold the beans. For some months now she'd seen her mother drift more and more often into her own world and there was little she could do about it. It was strange how her relationship with Mally had changed. There had been no problem between them as they'd moved from mother-and-child into equals, even good friends. This new relationship was awkward. It wasn't right for a child to have to see a parent this way . . . helpless . . . childlike. Alafair had never been helpless, it seemed. Fay's relationship with her own daughter had always been awkward. Alafair never seemed to "need" anyone, and Fay's tentative efforts to involve herself more intimately in her daughter's life has fallen on barren ground. Now she'd turned up out of the blue as if she'd only been away for a weekend. Fay knew from experience what not to discuss, but didn't know enough about her daughter's present life to know what to talk about. "You ought to take a mess of these half-runners with you. They done good this year ..." Alafair slid to a part of the step where she could better see her mother, and suddenly realized something was wrong with this picture. "Whatever happened to that apron you used to wear, Mother? I remember ... it was a pink paisley and you wore it every day . . . especially at bean time. I've seen you pick more beans in that apron than Dad could get in a drywall bucket." "I remember that old apron. Floweredy . Guess it just flew off the clothesline one day. Just turned up gone. No matter. Nobody wears aprons anymore. Why, if Gs to be seen out in a apron people'd stare at me like I was naked." "We seed some nekkid people on TV, didn't we, Fay?" For a moment Fay'd forgotten Mally, but something they'd said had triggered some memory. "What was the program we was watching that night? Tall colored people with rings and rings of beads round their necks and feathers in their hair but nary so much as a string around ... I can't 'member when it was on ... " Alafair stared down at her beans, waiting for her grandmother to finish her thought. Fay, though, didn't bother. Mally was like this more and more often, sitting in the rocker on the porch, never rocking. Perched on the edge of the chair with one hand gripping the knob on the arm of the chair, she fidgeted at her mouth with the other hand as if to drag out the words she was searching for. Soon she seemed to forget she was even looking...