I Think Readers Are Just Looking For

I'm Sorry," I Heard Him Say Again. Then, Out Of The Corner Of My Eye, I Saw A Sudden Blur Of Movement As He Slid Out Of His Seat, Left Some Bills For The Breakfast He Wouldn't Eat, And Walked Away. And As He Did, I Thought Again Of Those Mornings In The Hallway At School, Way Back In Ninth Grade. Everything Had Started In Such Sharp Detail, Each Aspect Pronounced And Clear. Obviously, Endings Were Different. Harder To See, Full Of Shapes That Could Be One Thing Or Another, With All The Things That You Were Once So Sure Of Suddenly Not Familiar, If They Were Even Recognizable At All.

And That Was As Far As He Got Before I Heard It. The Thumping Of Footsteps, Running Up The Lawn Toward Me: It Seemed Like I Could Hear It Through The Grass, Like Leaning Your Ear To A Railroad Track And Feeling The Train Coming, Miles Away. As The Noise Got Closer I Could Hear Ragged Breaths, And Then A Voice. It Was My Mother.

It Was Just Perfect, Just Right All At Once.

Morgan Sighed. "i," She Announced, "am So Pathetic." "you Are Not," I Said. "i Am." She Went Over And Straightened The Cling Wrap, Corner To Corner. "do You Know How Many Times I've Brought In Devilled Eggs? This Is, Like, The Only Time I Haven't Been Sobbing And That's Only 'cause I Cried All Night. And Norman," She Said, Her Voice Rising To A Wail, "sweet Norman, Always Just Acts So Surprised To See The Eggs, And Pleased, And He Never, Once, Has Ever Acted Like He Knew What They Meant."

I Wanted To Tell Him So. Find The Right Words, String Them Together In The Ideal Way, Knowing That Here They Would Have The Best Chance Of Sounding Perfect.