Chapters (48)
- Cover
- Title
- Dedication
- Shelley
- Frank
- Lil
- Harvey
- Lil
- Frank
- Shelley
- Lil
- Frank
- Lil
- Shelley
- Harvey
- Lil
- Frank
- Harvey
- Lil
- Shelley
- Harvey
- Lil
- Shelley
- Lil
- Shelley
- Lil
- Shelley
- Lil
- Harvey
- Frank
- Shelley
- Frank
- Harvey
- Shelley
- Lil
- Shelley
- Frank
- Shelley
- Harvey
- Shelley
- Frank
- Acknowledgments
- Readers Guide
- Writing HieroglyphicsAn Essay by Jill McCorkle
- Questions for Discussion
- Also by Jill McCorkle
- About the Author
- Praise for Hieroglyphics
Becca, did I ever tell you that my mother always wanted an engagement ring and she wanted a Philco record player? She told me I should grow up to have both, and a lot of other things, too. I’m not sure why the ring meant so much to her (perhaps an expression of romance). She would have been disappointed that your father did not give me one either, that we went the more practical route and put a down payment on a car. But we have always had a stereo of some kind, and more important than that, we have had time.
I will always remember the day I looked over at your father, realizing how lucky that we had even found each other, and luckier still that we had survived some hard times. I suppose some of us have to see the edge before we understand how good it all is, and then if lucky, you still have time on the other side.
November 28, 1966
Newton
It’s November 28, and I am out here on the back porch to remember the time. Frank is inside watching “The Big Valley,” with the promise to get me up-to-date at the first commercial when I return. We let the kids watch “The Man from U.N.C.L.E.,” since that’s what all the kids are talking about at school these days. Becca says the girls in her class fight over who is best-looking: Napoleon Solo or Illya Kuryakin. I said I prefer the Russian (I think he’s quite handsome, in fact), and she all but threw a tantrum, saying it was terrible for me to say that with her daddy sitting right there. I think this is what they call “a stage,” but Frank laughed and said, Who knew there would be so many stages? He said “goddamn stages.” He’s going up for tenure, so it was good to hear him laugh, even if at her expense, because it has been a while.
I can see the blue light of the television in the Walkers’ house, their cat sitting in a windowsill, begging to get in, and I don’t blame her, because it’s cold. I have my big coat over my nightgown. Boots, scarf, hat. It’s tempting to go back inside, but I prefer the silence. It’s cold but clear, with a slip of a moon. It is 10:15.
February 17, 2016
Southern Pines