she would've got me except i am lazy and only answer the phone once i know who's calling, especially if they're waking me up.

she had that voice that i imagine only older southern ladies get, and not the older southern ladies of the mint julep variety, the older southern ladies of the real, dirt south.

the voice made deeper by cigarettes and possibly miller lite from shiny cans that when emptied are tossed into front lawns.

i let the message stay on my machine for a while, listening to it once more just to make sure i hadn't dreamed this elder lady into my life.

she was there. fifty, sixty years old, calling who she thought was a hairdresser.

she wanted a perm, and her friend had told me she would call.

she didn't leave a number to call back, just told me that she would call back, later.

i don't know if she has or not.

it's almost worth answering the phone, to listen to this voice that's such the epitome of why i love this place so much sometimes, why it is so deep into me.

why i will miss the grass and the trees, the water towers and the moon, the rain that comes suddenly at night, pushing you to open the windows of the apartment just to listen better to the way the drops beat the grass flat.