Just as at times we do nothing, and stay in bed or in the chair, looking around the room, not looking out the window for fear — not for fear, but concern — for what might be seen and what action that might entail, now, in come complementary way, we are driving or walking or taking public transportation, a bicycle, perhaps, a scooter, to a destination we hope we will recognize — that being our only hope in all of this — that we will arrive, be relieved of our packages, and that the transition will go smoothly, these uncertain items passing out of our hands into the hands of others. Our wish is that we will return as soon as possible to rest, in the bed, in the room, to sit in the chair across from the window, or to embrace with joy the members of the family, if there is one. It is pointless to think about that now.
In every sense we have returned, though without him, to what we did once with father.How we trusted him! now that we think about it. The odor of sweat that rose from his forearms to comfort us, the short-billed cap creased from many times taking off and putting on, sometimes in deference to others, sometimes from the heat of the sun. The questions he devised to test our knowledge! These he might put to us while braking and accelerating, to discipline our attention. Our confidence was so great, so great, we left everything in his hands. We went where he went, whenever he went, as long as we were invited. How we looked forward to his invitations, since to be with him was all we desired! As well, all he required was that, yes, we be with him. Come along, was what he said.
We remember, we think, the vehicle we rode in, a pickup with round green fenders. We sat, when the ways were peaceful, on the other end of the bench seat, of brown vinyl, and slouched and peered out at the rush of road, our face pressed against the glass, that was sometimes cold and sometimes not, against our cheek. And from beyond the rush of leaves interrupting the sunlight, their pattern scrubbing the truck’s hood as we passed, drumming with the pressure of feeble fingertips on our eyelids when they were closed, as often as not closed, while the road hummed and blurred, as though it sang, until he stopped.
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