and snow of the parking lot. She can see the grandkids,” “We held her coat collar together and she said, snuffling. kept her head down against the They drove on without biting wind. Ahead, the maroon speaking. They passed endless rental car was a black blob in the houses, darkened in the middle of dim light, the engine running to the winter night. Streetlights slid keep the heater going. George by in rhythmic intervals, the only was inside, smoking cigarettes guardians against the blackness of and listening to the radio. the world around them. George he asked as she exhaled smoke, his eyes on the “So?” jumped in. street ahead. When he broke the silence, his voice was said good-bye.” “I dispassionate. always loved “You George grunted. He turned him, didn’t you?” off the radio, put the car in gear, Jessica rubbed again at her then crunched slowly through the window and gazed out into parking lot toward the street. darkness. She said nothing. he said, I glad we left “Jeez,” “am all this snow and crap behind.” Robert Gardner worked his entire life after college as a mechanical Jessica huddled against her engineer and is now retired. He door and remained silent. She lost his eyesight as an adult, but sniffled, her nose curling against managed to keep working largely the cigarette smoke. Removing by becoming knowledgeable on her glove, she wiped away the the computer. He lives with his condensation on her window and wife in the small river town of peered out. Hampton, Illinois, on the George glanced at her as he Mississippi. He became involved pulled out onto the street. with the NFB fifteen years ago, “This was a long way to come, just for and had published articles and that.” stories in both the Braille Monitor and Slate & Style. His favorite
and snow of the parking lot. She held her coat collar together and kept her head down against the biting wind. Ahead, the maroon rental car was a black blob in the dim light, the engine running to keep the heater going. George was inside, smoking cigarettes and listening to the radio. “So?” he asked as she jumped in. “I said good-bye.” George grunted. He turned off the radio, put the car in gear, then crunched slowly through the parking lot toward the street. “Jeez,” he said, “am I glad we left all this snow and crap behind.” Jessica huddled against her door and remained silent. She sniffled, her nose curling against the cigarette smoke. Removing her glove, she wiped away the condensation on her window and peered out. George glanced at her as he pulled out onto the street. “This was a long way to come, just for that.” “We can see the grandkids,” she said, snuffling. They drove on without speaking. They passed endless houses, darkened in the middle of the winter night. Streetlights slid by in rhythmic intervals, the only guardians against the blackness of the world around them. George exhaled smoke, his eyes on the street ahead. When he broke the silence, his voice was dispassionate. “You always loved him, didn’t you?” Jessica rubbed again at her window and gazed out into darkness. She said nothing. Robert Gardner worked his entire life after college as a mechanical engineer and is now retired. He lost his eyesight as an adult, but managed to keep working largely by becoming knowledgeable on the computer. He lives with his wife in the small river town of Hampton, Illinois, on the Mississippi. He became involved with the NFB fifteen years ago, and had published articles and stories in both the Braille Monitor and Slate & Style. His favorite
2015%20Summer%20S&S.docx