“It was the first house his father had ever bought: a small yellow one with a green door, a picture window, a car port. His father had bought it four years ago, when they moved from Lafayette to Lake Charles; it was a new house, built for selling in a residential section where at first there were half a dozen houses and wide, uncut fields where cottontails and meadowlarks lived. There were few trees. My prairie, Paul’s mother called it. Now the fields were lawns and everywhere you looked there w...as a house, but still she said to friends: Come out to the prairie and see us. She said this in front of Paul’s father too, her tone joking on the surface, yet no one could fail to hear the caverns of shame and bitterness beneath it. Come to my little yellow house on the prairie, she said. Now, with hangered dresses lying on the back seat, and his new Marine uniform with the new gold bars hanging in a plastic bag from the hook above the window, he came in sight of the house, rectangular and yellow against the pale blue of the hot afternoon, and he felt a sense of dread, as though he were a child who had done something foolish and disobedient, and now must go home and pay the price.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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