Long Distance
1997; University of Iowa; Volume: 27; Issue: 2 Linguagem: Inglês
10.17077/0021-065x.4944
ISSN2330-0361
Autores ResumoA Saturday morning, and my father, younger than I am now, carries liquor boxes full of books to the car.My older brother stands at the door as dutifully as a hotel bellhop: he holds the door open for my father each time he steps out, then pulls it gently shut and stands at attention, back straight and eyes staring solemnly ahead as he waits for my father to return.Then he opens the door again, though this time it is unnecessary, for my father is empty-handed, can open the door him self.From this distance of years, I imagine Stephen is trying to comfort my father somehow.The only son, perhaps he understands my father's grief in ways which the rest of us cannot; perhaps, as he stands there in his fuzzy Speed Racer pajamas, he senses what it will take me nearly
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