by Louise Yeiser
“Oh, my God, which one of you ladies wrote this?” he asked, putting down the paper, sitting up in his chair and flashing his eyes around the classroom. Those eyes. They always rendered me speechless and made me want to spread down into my seat, like a pat of butter when it first starts to melt and seep into the gray coating of a warm pan. “I want to know who you are and everything about you,” he said, his voice husky with hope (or something), sounding like a boy in a baseball cap, licking his lips and salivating over the suggestion of chocolate chip ice cream on a sweaty summer’s day. “Aw, come on, name please?” he asked, looking around the room at the shrugging shoulders and shaking heads, no. I’m afraid I’m older than his mother.
Louise Yeiser, whose full catalog is here, has been published in various and sundry places, writes Sneak Peeks for fun, and usually takes credit for her work.