Если я останусь
2:48 A.M.
"Gramps,don’tyoulikeDad’snewclothes?"Iasked.
Grampshaltedtheaxinmidair.ThenhesetitdowngentlynexttothebenchIwassittingon."Ilikehisclothesjustfine,Mia,"hesaid.
"ButyoulookedsosadintherewhenGranwastalkingaboutit."
Grampsshookhishead."Don’tmissathing,doyou?Evenattenyearsold."
"It’snoteasytomiss.Whenyoufeelsad,youlooksad."
"I’mnotsad.YourfatherseemshappyandIthinkhe’llmakeagoodteacher.ThosearesomeluckykidswhogettoreadTheGreatGatsbywithyourdad.I’lljustmissthemusic."
"Music?YounevergotoDad’sshows."
"I’vegotbadears.Fromthewar.Thenoisehurts."
"Youshouldwearheadphones.Mommakesmedothat.Earplugsjustfallout."
"MaybeI’lltrythat.ButI’vealwayslistenedtoyourdad’smusic.Atlowvolume.I’lladmit,Idon’tmuchcareforallthatelectricguitar.Notmycupoftea.ButIstilladmiredthemusic.Thewords,especially.Whenhewasaboutyourage,yourfatherusedtocomeupwiththesegreatstories.He’dsitdownathislittletableandwritethemdown,thengivethemtoGrantotypeup,thenhe’ddrawpictures.Funnystoriesaboutanimals,butrealandsmart.Alwaysremindedmeofthatbookaboutthespiderandthepig—what’sitcalled?"
"Charlotte’sWeb?"
"That’stheone.Ialwaysthoughtyourdadwouldgrowuptobeawriter.Andinaway,Ialwaysfeltlikehedid.Thewordshewritestohismusic,they’repoetry.
