Вино из одуванчиков

           soTomjustsatonthehardwoodfloorandlookedoutintothedarkdarkdark,pressinghisnoseagainstthescreenuntilthefleshofitstipwasmoldedintosmalldarksquares.

           "IwonderwhereDougis?It’salmostnine-thirty."

           "He’llbehere,"Tomsaid,knowingverywellthatDouglaswouldbe.

           HefollowedMomouttowashthedishes.Eachsound,eachrattleofspoonordishwasamplifiedinthebakedevening.Silentlytheywenttothelivingroom,removedthecouchcushionsand,together,yankeditopenandextendeditdownintothedoublebeditsecretlywas.Mothermadethebed,punchingpillowsneatlytoflumpthemupfortheirheads.Then,ashewasunbuttoninghisshirt,shesaid,"Waitawhile,Tom."

           "Why?"

           "BecauseIsayso."

           "Youlookfunny,Mom."

           Momsatdownamoment,thenstoodup,wenttothedoorandcalled.Helistenedtohercallingandcalling,"Douglas,Douglas,ohDoug!Douglasssssss!"overandover.Hercallingfloatedoutintothesummerwarmdarkandnevercameback.Theechoespaidnoattention.

           Douglas.Douglas.Douglas.

           Douglas!

           Andashesatonthefloor,acoldnessthatwasnoticecreamandnotwinter,andnotpartofsummer’sheat,wentthroughTom.