Vignettes Regarding the Artwork of Brendon Kotes
The day Casey found out Robbie had sex with Evelyn Yert was a cold, slushy day in mid-January. He came roaring up in that blue Mustang of his, exhaust cut short as if he thought the world wouldn’t notice him otherwise. He wore no coat, not even a rain jacket to hold off the mush occasionally sluicing down for minutes at a time.
Short-sleeved and angry, Casey banged on the door, setting off Mom’s angel prism to spinning tortured rainbows across the entrance. From down the hall came her voice, her ears attuned to the chaos that was Casey.
“You tell that rascal not to punch my door, Brendon. Tell him I’ll not invite him to a single casserole dinner if he can’t find some quiet in his crazy.”
Red-eyed and rough, Casey scowled the moment Brendon opened the door.
“Not inside. Can’t be cooped up. Not now. Come on.” He turned before he’d finished speaking, sure in the knowledge Brendon wouldn’t resist.
He was bouncing on his toes in the wet street, hands shoved into his pockets and breath coming out in dragon steam puffs by the time Brendon joined him, handing a second coat over. Casey merely laughed miserably and climbed into the driver’s seat, so that coat went into the back, crumpled to the floor where it lay forgotten for three weeks.
“Did you know?” Continue reading