That smile

She’s not old enough to drink.  She doesn’t drink much anyway.  We’ve agreed that we will not introduce each other to our social circles.  She just calls me when she wants to see me.  (And she does at the strangest hours.)

She says she will be gone soon.  Little does she know what being gone is really all about.

One afternoon, while I was sitting on the couch in her apartment and staring at my iPhone, she asked me what I was doing.  I told her I was reading War and Peace.  On your phone? she said.  Yes.  I love you, she said.

She’s reading Middlemarch right now.  It entrances and enthralls her just as it did me when I first read it when she was but a baby.  I like it that a book can transcend two generations and more.  I try to avoid talking about Middlemarch with her.  She needs to have it for her own without my intrusion.

Soon, she will be gone.  My life will be more impoverished for it.  Yet all the better too.  I’ll always remember that afternoon sitting on her couch and her saying that she loved me for the paltry exercise of reading War and Peace.  And of course, her hand on my face at times will always be remembered.

Oh, and that smile.

Published in: on June 22, 2009 at 1:29 am  Leave a Comment  

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