By Mollie Claire
“Today’s piano lessons. Mimi says I can wear my Sunday shoes because Mother didn’t pack ‘nother pair”, Ella stared up at the old man, one hand placed defiantly on each hip. Papaw was waxing his Roadmaster, which was more boat than Buick. She admired her reflection on the exterior. The glint of her gold shoe buckles in the hot Mississippi sun sparkled like Mimi’s earrings. She would be a lady like Mimi one day, Ella thought. Her future tasted like mint juleps and finger sandwiches, audacious sun hats and society gossip.
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