JEANNE M ROGERS
INSTRUCTIONS FOR A BED SHEET PARACHUTE I can’t say for certain what it was that attracted me to Leif, unless it had something to do with how he flattered me. When he raved about my auburn hair and long legs, I felt like a goddess – at least at the beginning. That’s why, after being together six months, it hurt so badly when he started breaking up with me on Monday mornings. On the third consecutive Monday, I stopped by his apartment that evening to pickup my clothes, and Tuesday morning, right on schedule, he called saying, “I miss you.” Dora, my best friend and agent, had reluctantly introduced us at Tacoma’s monthly Art Walk. Dora’s funny. She says something and I crack up, like the time I sent her a greeting card when she was going through a rough patch. See, I buy these cards with Impressionistic paintings on the front and stash them in my desk so that I always have something beautiful to share with friends who are down in the dumps. In all honesty, sometimes I need a lift too. When I mailed one to Dora, she called and said, “People who send greeting cards should expect trouble.” I tell you – she cracks me up. Dora and I stood admiring a painting of a girl with chartreuse hair at the Art Walk when Leif walked up holding a double scotch. “Don’t even think about it,” Dora whispered. “His reputation precedes him.” Leif offered his right hand. “Kat, this is Leif. He collects art – for his 19
