Sometimes I would laugh at the way she pressed buttons on a microwave. I don't know why. I wasn't making fun of her. Her long fingers dancing across those buttons just made me laugh. The kind of fingers that could scratch your back real good, you know? But, when she'd take those fingers, brush her hair out of her eyes, and look outside to find the moon, I'd stop laughing real quick. She wasn't a joke to be laughed at. And I'd never want her to think that. Her sad eyes might hear my voice, misunderstand, and think me cruel. I wasn't cruel. I was just a boy.
This neighbor lady made me think of the time I caught my mom climbing a tree. I was afraid she might fall and hurt herself.