The house on Velvet St. was a ruddy red color.  The kind of color that baseball field clay is.  The address of the house on Velvet St. is 1798 Velvet street even though it is the only house on Velvet St.  It could be numbered One Velvet Street and it would make no difference to anyone with the exception of the mail man who delivered the mail to 1798 Velvet St.  The man who delivered the mail to 1798 Velvet St. enjoyed the address being 1798 because it was the year his favorite book of poetry was first published and seeing that numbered filled his head with the words of the British Romantics and allowed him to day dream about his more idealistic youth.

The ruddy red house had a bight red mail box and a dark green fence.  The fence was only about three feet tall.  Just high enough to keep small dogs from jumping it but it gave the home owner a great sense of security, even though he could probably with a good running start clear it without a problem.  Not to mention that the gate didn’t even really lock.  Mr. Sanders, as the home owner was called, had a great deal of faith in many things like his short green fence.

Mr Sanders had a wife named Mrs Sanders, though she was born with  the name Abigail Frost.  She was named after her Great-Grand Mother who escaped poverty and racial tension from Eastern Europe to start a new life in America.  Abigail the younger believed that Abigail was an older persons name and had tried out several nick names over the years to combat that  She had been Abby, Abbs, Ally, Erin, Cheeks, and Honey.  Now that she was older she was not even Abigail Sanders.  She was Mrs. Sanders, even on Saturdays.

The Sanders had been married for ten years but had not had children.  Mr. Sanders thought that maybe he had become impotent from college sports or had some congenital condition.  He had over the years read many articles on ways to increase sperm count and tired everything.  Diet changes, exercise, even changing his underwear.  None of it had worked.  He had never asked his Doctor about any of this, ever.  Mr. Sanders was not that type of man.  It was right when they had given up hope that Mrs. Sanders Finally became with child.