[stylist] sharing a story

Sun Mar 15 23:14:15 UTC 2015

Donna,
I have not welcomed you back. Anyone who has read this critique of Chris's
story will know how much your skills mean to aspiring writers. That,
combined with your willingness to put serious time into a worthy piece,
makes you an outstanding member of this list.
I have benefitted from your graciousness in the past, and still have not
given that back as yet. Hang in.  you have been in my mind and hoping others
have given you more feedback on your own book.
I am truly a novice about critiquing fiction, and do spend time listening to
digital books, finally with a critical mind. I try to mentally write a book
review when I have finished one. I also listen to "Sunsounds of Arizona" for
their book reviews. It is so good to have you back with your interesting
blogs on all subjects pertaining to blindness.

Jackie Lee

Time is the school in which we learn.
Time is the fire in which we burn.
Delmore Schwartz	 

-----Original Message-----
From: stylist [mailto:stylist-bounces at nfbnet.org] On Behalf Of Applebutter
Hill via stylist
Sent: Saturday, March 14, 2015 10:05 AM
To: 'Chris Kuell'; 'Writers' Division Mailing List'
Subject: Re: [stylist] sharing a story

Chris,
I like this; it's a great snapshot of the father-daughter relationship. Two
things come to mind. First, it could be the basis for a novel, with other
scenes showing the other parts of the father's life. Perhaps, an overriding
plot threat (murder mystery, involvement in some secretive adventure etc.)
could hold the whole thing together. Second, if you do want to enter it into
the contest, I think you could edit it down, using surgical rather than
slash & burn editing. Weed out the repetitive things and unnecessary
adverbs. Here are just a couple of examples.

1.
Block quote
I can't be sure, but I thought I heard Ethan suckling, which was probably
what the kid wanted all along.
"Okay, you two. Pull the covers up and get comfy. Ethan, I'm going to tell
you about the vacation your Mom, Grandpa and Nana took when your Mom was
just a little older than you are now. I can't be sure, exactly, but I
believe she was two or so." (70 words)
Block quote end

I would remove both instances of "I can't be sure" and drop the extended
reference to the child's age. If you feel like you have to define it more
specifically, I'd do that in the narrative, not the dialog, but I think with
the child suckling, it isn't really necessary.

Suggestion:
I thought I heard Ethan suckling, which was probably what the kid wanted all
along. "Okay, you two. Pull the covers up and get comfy. Ethan, I'm going to
tell you about the vacation your Mom, Grandpa and Nana took when your Mom
was just a little older than you are now. " (53 words

2.
Block quote
"We decided to drive down to North Carolina for vacation, heading to a place
called Nag's Head in the Outer Banks. It was pretty far, sixteen or
seventeen hours, if my memory serves me correctly, but it was worth it. The
sun was warm, and the beaches were long and sandy and very beautiful. When
we first arrived, even before we unpacked the car at the hotel, we walked
over to the beach to see the ocean. And your Momma, the cute little squirt,
walked right into the water and sat down, clothes and diaper and all. Your
Nana said she'd never seen a happier baby. Later on, we walked along the
beach and Nana and your Mom looked for shells. Your Mom found a horseshoe
crab, which she wanted to keep, but I convinced her it was better off where
it lived." (143 words)
Block quote end

Again, I don't think the father's uncertainty about the details needs to
take up so much space. Also, I removed "at the motel" as something
unnecessary,  that the reader would probably assume. I also removed one
instance of "the beach" and shortened the destination

Suggestion:
"We decided to drive down to a place called Nag's Head in North Carolina's
Outer Banks.  It was pretty far, sixteen or seventeen hours, I think, but it
was worth it. The sun was warm, and the beaches were long and sandy and very
beautiful. When we first arrived, even before we unpacked the car , we
walked over to see the ocean. And your Momma, the cute little squirt, walked
right into the water and sat down, clothes and diaper and all. Your Nana
said she'd never seen a happier baby. Later on, we walked along the beach
and Nana and your Mom looked for shells. Your Mom found a horseshoe crab,
which she wanted to keep, but I convinced her it was better off where it
lived." (129 words)

HTH,
Donna

-----Original Message-----

From: stylist [mailto:stylist-bounces at nfbnet.org] On Behalf Of Chris Kuell
via stylist
Sent: Friday, March 13, 2015 5:50 PM
To: 'Writers' Division Mailing List'
Subject: [stylist] sharing a story

Greetings,

The concept for this story came when I was thinking about what to write for
the NFB writing contest. But, at 5000 words, it's far too long to be a
contender. Even so, I might try submitting it elsewhere. So I'd appreciate
any feedback you are willing to give. More specifically-how's the pacing?
Does it hold your interest? How can I improve it?

Thanks,

Chris

Talking To My Daughter Late At Night

By Chris Kuell

It's quarter to nine, and I'm on the couch watching television with my wife
when we hear a pulsating bounce above us. My wife groans. I tell her I'll
take care of it and head upstairs. Sophie, my two-and-a-half year old is
bouncing on her new junior bed. Shortly before her second birthday she was
capable of the incredible gymnastic feat of flipping herself over the crib
rail and dropping to the floor in a nearly perfect dismount, so a week or so
ago we gave in and replaced her crib with the shiny new bed.

"Hi Daddy!" she says.

I know I should put on my harsh face. It's not time for playing. It's not
time for bouncing.  It's time for sleep. But, she's so damn cute. I've
always heard that daughters know how to wrap their fathers around their
little fingers, and I'm beginning to see the truth of that statement.

"Sophie-I've told you, no jumping on your new bed. You'll break it. It's way
past your bedtime, so you need to get your blanky and lay back down."

I'm blind, so I can't see the deflation in her so much as feel it. "I'll let
you keep your Mary Poppins light on so you can look at your books. But you
have to lay down. Deal?"

I hear her hop out of bed and run to her bookcase, then scamper back.
"Daddy, you read with me?"

"Listen sweetheart. It's way past your bedtime. I already read you a story."

"Please! Please, Daddy. I got the fuzzy book."

The fuzzy book was Sophie's title for a book called Feely Bugs that my wife
picked up at an after-Christmas sale. Each page had an illustration of a bug
on it, enhanced by some sort of tactile embellishment. One bug had a leather
shell, another lace hat, another ribbed belly. Tough guy that I am, I sat
down next to her on her junior bed and she immediately climbed into my lap.
She opened the book to the first bug, then took my finger and dragged it
across the textured picture. We followed a fairly standard routine from
there. I'd say, "Ahhh." at the lacy bug, and "Ummm." at the felt bug, and
then I'd make a yakking sound and shake all over at the sandpaper bug, which
always sent Sophie into a belly laugh so adorable I couldn't help but laugh
along.

When we'd finished the book, Sophie would sneakily go back to the sandpaper
bug to get me to act repulsed and simulate a seizure again. After a little
more coaxing I got her settle back into bed, covered her with her blanky,
and stroked her baby soft hair while singing a tender,  off-key version of
'I'm Henry the 8th I am' until she was fast asleep.

    *   *   **

It's late, meaning past 10:30 on a week night, and my wife and I are heading
to bed. "I call firsties in the bathroom," she says. "You go check on our
little darling."

Sophie's door is open-she doesn't like to be closed in at night-and I hear
her turning the pages of a book.

"Hey Sweetie," I whisper. "How come you're still up? Tomorrow is a big day,
and you need your sleep."

"I'm too excited to sleep," she says.

She turns to me as I close her book and stroke her head. My wife has put her
thick hair into two long braids and I finger each before rubbing her back to
help my little girl relax. I immediately notice she isn't in the pajamas she
was in two hours ago. "Sophie. what are you wearing?"

"I put on my school dress," she tells me. "I don't want to be late tomorrow,
so I decided to get dressed tonight."

I smile, and don't say anything. She's excited, and I'm feeling like I'm at
a precipice. Tomorrow my daughter will go to school. Her world will change,
and so will ours. She will begin to pull away from us, becoming more
independent and more engrossed with friends and activities that we will only
be on the periphery of. Her universe will get bigger, and yet we, her
parents, will get continually smaller in her view.

"Daddy, were you scared on your first day of school?"

"A little," I said. "But, I had my brother, your Uncle Dave, to help. He
told me everything would be fine, and it was."

"What was your kindergarten teacher's name?"

Before Sophie came along, while I was perusing the books on how to raise a
healthy child and other theoretically good parenting books my wife
suggested, I'd decided I wanted an honest relationship with my kid. No
lying, no saying-because I said so. I wanted to treat her like I wanted to
be treated, with respect and compassion. And yet, there are times when a
little white one seems appropriate. She's facing this huge milestone, the
biggest day of her life, and she needed reassurance that it was a big deal,
and she'd be okay.

"Sure," I lied. "Her name was Mrs. Gallagher, and she was very nice. I
wasn't as smart as you when I went to kindergarten, so she taught me and the
other kids tons of stuff."

"Like what?"

"Oh, all sorts of things. Shapes, colors, how to tie our shoelaces, how to
tell time, how to count to a hundred, the alphabet."

"You didn't know your shapes when you went to kindergarten?"

I may not be able to see her mother in Sophie, but there certainly are times
when I can hear her. "Well, maybe not all of them. It was a long time ago.
But what I do remember was snack time. Every day we got a cookie and a
little carton of milk, and we got to eat our snack while Mrs. Gallagher read
a book to us. That was my favorite time."

"What about the other kids? Were they nice to you?"

"Yes," I said, pulling her blanket up and gently rubbing her back. "Every
kid is a little nervous. You aren't the only one. Some kids will be nicer
than others, and some of them are going to be your best friends for years.
You'll see."

I went over and started the tape player, turning the volume low as the
narrator read Dr. Seuss' 'Yertle the Turtle'. I bent low and kissed Sophie's
soft cheek. "I love you sweetie. Please try to relax and get some sleep.
Tomorrow is going to be a great day. I promise."

    *    *   *   *

"Hello?"

"Hey Dad, it's me. Is it okay if I stay over at Lauren's tonight?"

"Sophie-do you know what time it is? You were supposed to be home by ten
o'clock." I tucked the phone between my jaw and shoulder so I could check my
braille watch. 10:35.

"I know. Sorry. Mrs. Jackson picked us up at the movies, then a bunch of
people went over to Coconuts for cupcakes and stuff. And Lauren asked me to
stay over, so can I?"

"Hold on a second," I said. "Who is a bunch of people?"

"Me and Lauren and Kara and Austin and Nick and Nick's cousin Stephen. Oh,
and Tammy met us there. But I'm at Lauren's house now. Her Mom says it's
fine."

Why did I suddenly feel like I was getting snowed? "We had a deal that you
could go to the movies and Mrs. Jackson would bring you home by ten o'clock.
There weren't any cupcakes or boys Or a sleepover mentioned." I could hear a
dog barking and a television set in the distance, but my daughter was
playing mum for the moment. "You don't have a change of clothes, or a
toothbrush. And how are you planning on getting home in the morning?"

"Dad, don't get so uptight. I can borrow pajamas from Lauren, and I'm sure
her Mom can find me an extra toothbrush. Come on-I'm already here. Either
Mrs. Jackson can drive me home or Mom can come get me in the morning. It's
no big deal."

"It's no big deal for you, but I don't like this one bit. This wasn't the
plan. I don't even really know the Jacksons."

"C'mon, Dad. You know Lauren, and you've met both her parents like dozens of
times."

I did a quick search of my memory banks. Yes, I'd met Lauren several times.
She seemed like a nice kid, as far as giggly seventh grade girls go. I'd met
her mother once after a band performance, and another time when she picked
Lauren up at our house, but I wouldn't say that I knew her in any way beyond
her having a relatively well behaved daughter who was in a couple of my
daughter's classes and who liked pizza. Is that enough information to allow
my only child to stay overnight?

Would she be safe with these relative strangers?

By this time my wife had joined me and picked up on the gist of the
conversation. "Hold on," I said. "I want to talk to your mother for a
minute."

Carolyn didn't share my stranger danger fears, but she was equally annoyed
at the change in plans. Yet, she informed me, this was the way of teenagers.
Since they didn't have a lot of control in their lives, they tried to get it
in often spontaneous ways. After assuring her that I wasn't like that as a
teen, and her giving me a look like I didn't remember half as well as I
think I did, I returned to my daughter.

"Hey Sophie-you still there?"

"Yes, Dad."

"Okay, we'll let you spend the night at the Jacksons." I heard a yip that I
interpreted as joyful, followed by dance steps of some sort. "We want you
home by eleven o'clock tomorrow morning, and you have to promise to clean
your room when you get home."

"Clean my room?" she said. "I could hear you and Mom talking, and that never
came up."

Damn, I forgot how good her ears were. "Doesn't matter, it's part of the
bargain. Deal?"

"Deal," she said, this time with no dancing or gleeful pre-teen sounds.

"Sophie, be sure to be on your best behavior. Clean up after yourself, and
say thank you to Lauren's parents."

"Don't worry, Dad-I will. Okay, I'll see you tomorrow."

"I love you sweetie," I said to the dial tone.

    *   *   *   *

"Hey, Dad. You got a minute?"

"Sure," I said, removing my headphones and stopping the book I was listening
to while waiting for my wife to return home from Chicago. She'd been out
there three days for a convention, and I had a nice bottle of Cabernet just
waiting for her return. "What's up? Come here and sit down."

"I don't know," Sophie said as she sat down next to me on the couch. "I just
got off the phone with Daniel, and, well, I don't know."

"Did he say something that hurt you?" I didn't think that was it, as she
didn't seem really upset. But it was the first thing that came to mind.

"No. That's not it at all. He's never been anything but nice to me."

"So what's the problem? What's on your mind right now?"

Sophie leaned forward and made a theatrical agonized 'Ummpphh..' Sound, like
she had her face in her hands and couldn't quite verbalize what was on her
mind. "Daniel is a really nice guy, and that's the problem. No, that's not
the problem, but he's so good to me. He buys me flowers. He took me to see
that jazz ensemble I wanted to hear. He always acts polite, but. but."

"But there's no chemistry," I said. "You like him, but there's no sparks."

She turned to look at me. "That's it exactly. And I just feel terrible about
it."

I put my arm around her shoulder and pulled her close, like when she was a
little girl. "Why do you feel terrible?"

"Because he's so nice to me. He buys me things. He rented the limo for
homecoming, and took me to dinner at Tuscani's. You know how expensive that
place is."

"Stop right there," I said. "Daniel did those things because he's a nice
guy, and he cares for you, that's true. But, don't think for a second that
you owe him anything. You didn't ask for those things, you never made any
kind of deal with him, and it wouldn't matter even if you did. These are
your feelings, Sophie. Feelings can't be bought or sold."

I pulled her even closer and kissed the top of her head. "Love is the most
precious thing in the world, sweetie. And yet, there's no explaining it.
There's no telling where or when it might strike. We want to think we
control it, but we don't. There's no formula for it. Like a rainbow or a
royal flush, sometimes the infinite number of variables line up just right
and something magical occurs. Other times-it just doesn't."

"So what do I do?"

I paused, taking a moment to think. A part of me was so touched that she
came to me that I really didn't want to screw this up. My own relationship
experience was rather limited, but she didn't want to hear that. "Daniel is
a very nice young man, and I know you don't want to hurt him. My
recommendation is to simply talk to him. In kind, compassionate terms, let
him know how you feel. That you like him, but you just don't think he's the
right guy for you. Lie--tell him he'll meet somebody better."

This got a little chuckle out of her. "Maybe I'll send him a letter. I could
put it in his."

"Sorry, missy, but that's the coward's way out." I reached out and took her
hand in mine. "It's going to be hard, I know, but you need to talk with him
in person. If it were me, I'd go for a walk, and talk along the way. Maybe
around the block, so there's an end point. Be honest with him, and listen to
what he has to say. He deserves that. Breaking off a relationship isn't
easy, and some day you might be on the other end, so be compassionate."

"Yeah, but what do I say?"

"Well," I said. "It's going to be hurtful no matter what you say, so I
recommend a limerick."

"Aw, c'mon, Dad."

"There once was a lad named Daniel," I said in my best theatrical voice.
"Who smelled a bit like an English Spaniel. You're offensive to my nose, so
you've just got to goes."

At this point Sophie was either laughing, or groaning. Sometimes she just
doesn't appreciate my comic genius.

    *   *   *   *   *

"Hey Dad!"

"Sophie? Are you okay?"

"Sure I'm okay. I'm great! How are you and Mommy?"

"We're good. Mom is sleeping right now, or, at least she was. Do you know
what time it is?"

"No-o-o-o. Do you know what time it is?"

"I'm not sure, but I know it's awful late."

"Come on, Daddy-o. It's Saturday night! It's too early for bed."

"Too early for you, perhaps," I said as my heart rate returned to normal and
the pieces of the puzzle fell into place. I hate to wake to a ringing phone
late at night. My mind immediately races to either someone died or someone
is severely injured. Instead, my daughter sounds like she's had a few and
just misses us. "Where are you, Sophie?"

"I'm down the hall in my friend Nancy's room. She's the best." I can hear
people talking, loud music in the background. Saturday night at the dorm. I
don't really miss those days.

"Sounds as though you've had a few," I said, keeping my voice
non-judgmental. Technically, Sophie was still underage, but that never
seemed to stop college kids from partaking.

"Quite a bit, actually," Sophie said. "Me and Becky split this big bottle
of, oh, what was it? San garagiglo, I think. You ever have that?"

"If you mean Sangiovese, yes I have. It's delicious, especially if it comes
from Italy."

"Well this one came from Justin's trunk. Justin is Nancy's boyfriend, even
though he's too old for her."

"Listen, Sweetie. I'm tired, and heading back to bed. Be careful, and maybe
it's time you switched to water or soda now."

"Oh Daddy, you're so funny. How's Ruby? Oh how I miss my little kitty!"

Ruby was the stray cat we'd taken in back when Sophie was in second grade.
And it never failed, whenever Sophie came home from school the first thing
she did was pet and feed and hang out with Ruby. Sure, she missed us, but
I'm not sure our absence was felt half as much as the damn cat's was.

"Ruby is doing great," I said. "Let's see. today she slept, then ate, then
slept some more. Overall it was a very good day."

"You give her a big smooch from me, okay? Tell her I miss her so-o-o-o
much!"

"I will," I said. In the background I heard a loud crash and the music
suddenly stopped.

"Got to go, Dad. Bye!"

   *   *   *   *   *

The first thing I heard when I picked up the phone was the wailing of a
baby. "Sophie? Is that you? Is that Ethan crying?"

"Oh Dad," she said, sounding as though she was on the brink of tears. "I'm
sorry to call so late, but I just don't know what to do. Ethan just keeps
crying and crying, and Tyler is in Pittsburgh on business, and I haven't
slept in three nights. I just can't take it anymore."

"Is he sick?" I said. "A fever? Did you try acetametaphan?"

"He doesn't have a fever, but I did give him a dose of Motrin about an hour
ago. He just keeps crying and won't stop."

This was obvious, as it was difficult to make out her words above his
high-pitched cries. "Well, He's probably too young for teething. Could be a
tummy ache, or simply a colicky baby. He does seem to cry a lot."

"He's going to put me in an early grave, I swear," Sophie whined. "I fed
him, I changed him, he doesn't have a rash. I gave him a bath, I rocked him,
I tried reading to him, but he just keeps crying."

"Are you in your bedroom? Try letting him hold the phone-can he do that?"

Sophie's voice came from a distance, and Ethan's sorrowful wailing filled my
ear. "He's holding it, kind of."

"Hey there, little Ethan," I said. "This is your Grandad, calling from
Vermont, nearly all the way across the country. Can you hear me little guy?
Why are you so sad? Really, you've nothing to get so wound up about. Your
Mommy is there taking care of you, and she's the best Mom in the world."

I paused and listened as Ethan's cries diminished, replaced by deep,
rhythmic gasps for air which hopefully meant his tantrum was winding down.

"He's gnawing on the phone, Dad. Keep talking. You seem to be taming the
wild beast."

"Hey, Ethan. You relax there and while your Mommy finds your binky I'll tell
you a little story."

"We try not to use the pacifier, Dad."

"No wonder the kid's so pissed off," I said. "Give him the damn binky. And
you might want to dip it into a shot of Jack Daniels first."

I can't be sure, but I thought I heard Ethan suckling, which was probably
what the kid wanted all along. "Okay, you two. Pull the covers up and get
comfy. Ethan, I'm going to tell you about the vacation your Mom, Grandpa and
Nana took when your Mom was just a little older than you are now. I can't be
sure, exactly, but I believe she was two or so."

My wife, convinced there wasn't an emergency, patted my arm and turned over
to resume sleeping. Unlike Sophie and me, she could sleep through a nuclear
war.

"We decided to drive down to North Carolina for vacation, heading to a place
called Nag's Head in the Outer Banks. It was pretty far, sixteen or
seventeen hours, if my memory serves me correctly, but it was worth it. The
sun was warm, and the beaches were long and sandy and very beautiful. When
we first arrived, even before we unpacked the car at the hotel, we walked
over to the beach to see the ocean. And your Momma, the cute little squirt,
walked right into the water and sat down, clothes and diaper and all. Your
Nana said she'd never seen a happier baby. Later on, we walked along the
beach and Nana and your Mom looked for shells. Your Mom found a horseshoe
crab, which she wanted to keep, but I convinced her it was better off where
it lived."

I paused, listening to my wife's gentle breathing beside me, quiet on the
other end of the phone line. "Keep talking, Daddy," Sophie said, sounding
about 80% asleep. "I like it."

"One afternoon we were on the beach relaxing, when you got up and walked
over to another couple who were near us," I said. I figured only Sophie was
listening at this point. "Your mother was nervous, but I told her to just
keep an eye on you. Well, it turns out this other couple had a box of
Cheese-Zits, which you had spied, and wanted. So you strolled over and must
have asked, because the woman gave you some. And instead of saying thanks
and leaving, which might have been polite, if exceptional for a
two-year-old, you just sat down, ate your crackers, and asked for more.
Around this time your mother went over to retrieve you, and ended up having
a long discussion with the couple-who turned out to be Linda and Steve
Faroni, who we are still friends with today. And we probably never would
have met them if not for your desire for Cheese-zits."

The heavy snoring on the other end of the phone was unmistakable now. I
listened for a minute, and it appeared like everyone in my family was asleep
but me. I hung the phone up and laid back down on my pillow, amazed at how
the time had passed. Wishing, not for the first time, that Sophie and Tyler
had stayed in New England rather than moving to California.

   *   *   *   *

"Where have you been?"

It was Sophie's voice, and she sounded annoyed. "That's a hell of a
greeting," I said. "No 'Hello, Dad'? No 'how are you'?"

""I've been calling you since yesterday afternoon and all I keep getting is
your machine. I was worried half to death," she said. "When are you going to
break down and get a cell phone? Come on, Dad. Time to move into the new
century."

"And get brain cancer? Or let the government track my every movement? No
thanks."

She made an exasperated hrrmpphhh... sound that was alarmingly similar to a
sound her mother still makes from time to time. "So where were you guys?"
she demanded. "Why didn't you answer my phone calls?"

"Your mother and I spent the weekend at that new casino in Connecticut with
the Andersons. We drove down yesterday morning, and didn't get back until
almost eight this evening."

"A casino? You and Mom? Why would you go there?"

"Why go to the moon? Why climb a mountain?" I said. "Because it's there. The
Andersons asked if we'd like to go, so we said yes. There's not much more to
it than that."

"Did you gamble?"

"It's a casino, sweetheart. Of course we gambled."

"Was it fun?"

Leave it to Sophie to find the part of a story that doesn't add up to her.
In truth, I'd found the casino mostly boring. It was loud and Smokey and I
couldn't appreciate how people were dressed or how the various gambling
areas were decorated. Basically, it cost me a hundred bucks to have a couple
beers and get a massive headache. "The Andersons had a great time. Lou won
three-hundred and sixty dollars playing blackjack. Your Mom seemed to enjoy
herself, although we didn't win anything. I mean, we won a little, then lost
it, then won a little, then lost it."

"And you?" she asked. "I know you, and I have a hard time picturing you at a
casino."

"It wasn't too bad," I said, knowing Carolyn was near. "It was different.
Personally, I'd rather spend my money on a nice meal or a trip to Fenway to
see the Sox, but sometimes you have to go with the flow."

"Go with the flow? Dad-do you know who you're talking too? I know you better
than that."

"Anyway," I said, changing the direction of the conversation. "We're home
safe and sound, and I'm sorry if we worried you. It was kind of a
spontaneous trip. How about you? What'd you guys do this weekend?"

"Well, Ethan had a soccer game yesterday, and he scored two goals. The kid
really is a good ball handler. Unfortunately, I missed the second goal
because Elizabeth was being fussy, but our friend Gabby had it on video, so
I still got to see it."

"Hey, that's fantastic," I said. Carolyn and I had gone out to visit Sophie
and her family in June, and between Ethan's baseball and Elizabeth's
gymnastics and Tyler's mountain biking, it seemed all their time was taken
up by sports. "Tell him we're very proud."

"And I got a little good news," she said.

"Do share."

"My poem, 'Concrete', was accepted by Prairie Schooner, which is a fairly
prestigious literary magazine."

"Hey! That's awesome!" I just about shouted into the phone. "I didn't know
you were submitting poems anymore." Sophie had always written in her
journals, and she'd had a few poems published in her college's literary
magazine. For a while she'd dated a guy named Jack who played guitar in a
band named Morphine, and he'd turned some of her poems into songs, but he
always put a dark slant on them. The past few years she was so busy with her
family that I didn't even know she was writing again. And that lack of
knowledge made the chasm between us feel so damn deep.

"I haven't been writing much," she said. "But I thought this one was pretty
good, and apparently their poetry editor agrees."

"Honey, that's just fantastic. I can't wait to read it. We'll buy dozens of
copies to share with all our friends," I said. "Listen, sweetie-your Mom
wants to talk. I love you, and I'm so proud."

   *    *   *   *      *

Sophie plopped down next to me on the couch.

"Everybody in bed?" I asked.

"Mom and Tyler are both snoring like lumberjacks. Ethan's on his phone,
probably texting Kendall, and Elizabeth is reading, although her eyelids
were at half-mast."

"That's good," I said. "Everybody had a busy day."

My wife and I had rented a cabin near one of the mountains so Sophie and her
family could ski. It was the kids winter break, and the first time they'd
come East in over three years.

"And you?" I said. "It's been a while since you've been skiing. How are your
legs holding up?"

"They aren't," she laughed. "That's why I'm sitting with you." I heard her
pour into a glass. "You want a little more vino?"

"No thanks," I said.

"There's only a little. We may as well finish the bottle," she said, then
tipped the remnants into my glass.

"Cheers," she said.

I lifted my glass, she touched it with hers, and we both sipped.

"The kids are so big," I said. "Ethan is almost as tall as me. And Elizabeth
is shooting up as well. It's crazy how time flies."

"Tell me about it," she said. "I'll be forty-five next month. Can you
believe it?"

I smiled, although my emotional state wasn't exactly happy. My baby, my
little sunshine, would be forty-five, then fifty, then sixty. This little
girl who used to sleep in my arms must have gray hairs now, wrinkles in the
corners of her eyes. Someday she'd be a grandmother, and it was all too much
to fathom.

  "Time is made up of things that are finite."

"Hunh?" Sophie said. "You getting all philosophical on me now, Dad?"

"Sorry," I said, taking a sip of wine. "It's just that you being forty-five
makes me seventy-five."

"Not until August," she said, obviously trying to make me feel better. I
ignored her and continued my thought.

"While you and Tyler and the kids were skiing today, and your mother was
busy working her magic in the kitchen, as old men tend to do, I thought
about time. Of course, I know it's all relative, but at my age, it sure does
seem to be moving extra fast."

"Listen, Professor Einstein. Don't go getting all maudlin on me now. You and
Mom are both still very active, very healthy, and I expect you to be around
for a couple more decades. Maybe more."

I smiled and drank my wine. Some day she would wrestle with the same
thoughts I grappled with now. The passing of a life is the truest measure,
the truest understanding of time's fullness. So many lives, and each
different. Each unknowable, no matter how similar to yours. From your own
flesh, yet uniquely its own. And in the end, no more than a brief ripple in
the ocean of time.

"You finished?" Sophie asked, getting up from the couch.  "Can I take your
glass to the sink? I'm beat, and the gang is going to be up before we know
it. "

"Thanks," I said.

"You want me to put the TV on or anything?"

"No-that's okay. I'll be hitting the hay in a minute."

Sophie bent and kissed me softly on the cheek. "Night, Dad."

"Good night."

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