OCR Text |
Show house/' 449 After the drive across town, it was a small matter to disengage from Kevin's collection of BeeGee's albums. "They'll be at the top of the charts someday," Kevin jvctL't&e • nis voice remin%d me suddenlv F. t", The prophetic tint of A of my father, even though to was politically radical and had shown some obscure signs of rebellion. "Thank you, Kevin," I said, kissing him. Acceptance. What a gracious state of being! Soon, Brian and I were on our way, reviewing the afternoon through laughter and groans. "I had a wonderful time," I said. "So did I!" He was smiling, genuine. I giggled, hugged myself, then hugged Brian. Something prismatic had warmed us, coaxing us aloft the frozen weights of past and future. There, feeling could flow freely, warmly*. It was a warmth of special texture, a feeling of courage and being equal to life that I remembered from times when the family joked over dinner about the narrow escapes from the law or the brusque interchanges with nosy neighbors. It was faith. Faith. I poked Brian in the ribs and watched him through lowered lids. "How do you like my family?" He shook his head. "That's not a family. That's a regiment." I told him that my father had always claimed we are among the armies of the Lord. "Well, the food's appropriate. Hit or miss, no in-between. But your father's the only one with weapon. The general is supposed to leave that to his underlings." |