Panther Prattle

Feathers and Weaves Fly

Four tracks into my favorite Putumayo World Music cd, three quick raps on the door announce the arrival of Marcia's younger sister, Kiera.

I peer out an amber-tinged pane before asking, "Who is there?" and allowing the door to glide open.

"Just in time," I proclaim above a motorcycle whizzing past.

Kiera heaves her arms forward and replies, "Hey there, Jocelyn... this is for you," then crosses the threshold.

I accept a burnish-orange, gift-wrapped box vomiting ribbons and gush, "This is very elegant. I don't know if I want to open it."

She motions her hands forward, implying shoo, pivots ninety degrees, and sweeps the door shut.

After it securely clicks, she belts, "Happy Retirement," using purer-than-Sunday-morning contralto.

"Thank you," I giggle when she curtseys.

"Are you ready?" she jabs toward Marcia, her elder by eighteen years.

"I know you are not still tripping," commands Marcia with significantly less honey than normal.

"You know wrong," counters Kiera when she walks further into the space towards a grey and blue floral chaise.

"Kiera, if you want a masters degree, get off your ass, find a job, and pay for it," flies out of Marcia's mouth like the first pitch of a home run derby.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa... ladies... I do not recall ringing the bell," I inject after I throw both hands in the air, defenselessly.

"Let's see... I could find a job, if I were not managing your household, chaperoning your kid, who by the way is twenty and does not need or want a damn chaperone, or filling in at your boutique when your staff flakes minutes before opening," counters Kiera.

She plops onto the chaise, crosses her right leg over the left, then adds, "And before you mention one damn word about paying me... twenty-five dollars an hour is fifty percent of the standard for this geographic area."

"You are a personal assistant," quips Marcia.

"Yep, that is correct and it's also why you should personally assist with grad school tuition," laughs Kiera.