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Show Moon -181 Td like to tell Aunt Alice that if there is such a thing as sin, it's this: one person's not seeing another person, letting the moments of connection wither before they even happen, the arc of good electricity that could have leaped between them never activated. Everyone hovers about such people uneasily, waiting like indrawn breaths for them to say, "You're alive. You're here. Now go about your business of living. Fly away home." Like certain kinds of lovers, like cities that are too powerful, certain kinds of people won't let their loved ones out of the jar, and if the escape is accomplished anyway, it isn't accomplished intact. There's tearing, there's loss, there's the conviction of no place to go, the magic dust rubbed off so you can't seem to fly like other people. "William Jennings Bryan," Ruth is saying, annoyed because my attention has strayed. "Oh yes," I say. "My Daddy had my mother sew tinfoil disks all over my best dress to look like silver coins, and I sat in the lap of William Jennings Bryan." I lean forward, eager for more. "Tell me about him," I say. "William Jennings Bryan?" "Well, okay." "I don't remember." "Tell me about your daddy, then," which is what Td meant in the first place. She looks at me, startled, birdlike. Her eyes go soft for a moment. Somewhere behind those eyes lie tears. I want to find out that no loss is so great it keeps us from feeling. She stands up, moves to the refrigerator, opens the door. "We need milk," she says. |