My Cardboard Balcony

G Word by Belinda Roddie You ask anyone within a five mile radius of you, and they'll have a different response as to what the "g word" might be. Don't hint at it. Simply provide the censorship, and the listener will mold the language in the privacy of her own cortex, like hidden wax building within an ear. Some people will say, "Gay." Others, "Genitalia." Others still, "Gringo." Maybe even "Graduate." Because it's graduation time, of course, and it's a big, scary word, "graduate." Means you're going places. "Going" is another word that could be a g word. Personally, I like "gangrene," "giraffe," "gremlin," "gabardine." "Gabardine" is a personal favorite. But most of all, the g word could be nothing but a superlative, one that some people are too afraid to overuse and others are too into using on everyone: "Great." ...

Seven pairs of jeans lay unwashed by the front porch, not even close to the drooping clothesline that had barely held so much as a corduroy jacket in months past. In fact, it was hard to say if the owner of said garments was even around much these days. The people in town liked to create theories about where the dweller had gone to, and how he or she must have had excellent taste in casual pants.