N.R. Pachecker

The Space Between

Gertrude rocked back and forth on the front porch. Her frame was draped in white linen and her hair was concealed behind a cotton scarf. No matter how her grandmother attempted to conceal loose tendrils and coils a few would always escape to frame her face. The rogue strands were as white as the snow she had never seen anywhere but school books. Humidity in the air created a thin sheen of dew on both Gertrude and her granddaughter . Their contrast was striking, and yet they seemed to be two sides of the same coin, united by the same café au lait skin.