Where did all that time go?
Her grandfather shuddered. “It must really hurt, fire. To burn up, that must hurt really bad.”
Her father’s uncle had been the wild one. He went to sea, got in the boxing ring and flirted with pretty girls in Panama. Finally, he came home, met his fiancée and got a job at the factory. Then a compressor exploded.
They still had his boxing gloves in a box somewhere.
The things she never said were so much more important than the things she did say. Like “I think you are my person”.
As a child, she would spend a lot of time on top of the stairs. Just listening. That way, she knew when it was time to intervene.
They had been told they could do anything, be anyone, go anywhere.
No wonder they were always in search of greener grass, trying desperately to escape mediocrity.
What was worse, she wondered, the pain of knowing or the torture of ignorance?
Nothing lasts forever. Life aint static. That was pretty much her philosophy.
She wasn’t sure whether that was a good thing or a bad thing.
Might be both.
Once when she was three, she smashed a bee with her bare hand. They were right,
it did hurt.