Anna Breland

Stories from Anna Breland

Friday, May 5th, 2017

 

The egg sizzled on the blacktop. Charles David called over for me to come; I had been under the mulberry tree pretending to make juice with my bare feet-- we weren’t allowed to talk about wine. My stained feet raced across to see my first sidewalk-fried egg. So far the summer had been the hottest on record; all of Oklahoma State braced themselves. It was just June and things would be getting much hotter. We were all together in the summer of 1977, one of the last times before the older cousins started moving off for college, babies etc. Charlie had stolen the egg from my grandma, someone who after this summer I would only call Charlotte May.