American River Review 2019 - Flipbook - Page 69
carriers strapped to the seats. A toy tiger rested on one of
them. “I always sit in the back.”
“There’s no space,” he said.
“This is a nice—”
“There’s no space.”
“You can make space. You can always make space.”
“Not for everything.”
“For most things you can.”
“So, what? You want me to stop the car?” he asked.
“No.”
“Good.”
“I am just saying this. I could have sat in the middle,
looked at the toy.”
He turned to her. There was red on her hand.
“The blood looks bad.”
“If you are worried, I am worried,” she said.
“Don’t talk. Hold your nose.”
“You do not want to clean the seat.”
“It’s not that.”
“Your father would not let me bleed in the car.”
“And?”
“Nothing. I am just saying that you are a good son.”
She smiled.
“Sure. You’ll feel better in the hospital.”
“I feel fine. It is only blood. Everything is fine.”
“Wonderful,” he said.
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing. Hold your nose.”
They stopped at another light. He sat straight and yawned,
watching the streets, but in a few minutes, he turned his
head away from the people in khakis and summer dresses
and the noise and turned toward the small shape of her head.
He grabbed the tiger and set it in her lap.
“Great toy,” she said.
“They love it.”
She leaned away from the window. “You know, last week
I saw a documentary on Africa.”
The man didn’t say anything.
“It was enlightening. Very enlightening. Is that the right
word?”
“Mom.”
“I never knew African skulls were so similar to us. How
resourceful they are.”
“Fascinating.”
“It was. The clouds made me think of it.”
“Maybe just look at them and don’t talk.”
“It really changed my life.”
“Please.”
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