Sheila's Dribs 'n Drabs

“Hogwash,” said the American. The Brit looked round at streets and litter, searching for a pig perhaps in a barrel of water. He reached for the wallet that lurked in his inside pocket. Perhaps the stranger hoped he’d give him cash to buy a hog and wash it. The American, wise to concealed weapons permits and their flaws, promptly pulled out a gun. Luckily the bullet missed the Brit, embedding itself in a wall, where it pinned a fruit-fly that nobody mourned. “Hogwash,” said the American, but the Brit turned sadly away. He still maintained his belief in gun control.

Warm and sweet, thick’n heavy, the air is treacle and bubbles release their childhood scents from the pan; jam butties for lunch. “Peanut butter’n jelly,” says the voice in her head, but what have peanuts got to do with fruit? “If you fall in the jelly you’ll be in a jam,” chants the memory of children and books. “But Mum, what’s jelly got to do with jam?”—American books that couldn’t even spell “colour.” Ah, but Sheila’s American now, spells “color,” eats “Jello” at parties… and stirs the pot of memories, warm and sweet; jam butties tomorrow, flavored with love.