The problem with the world is that everyone is a few drinks behind
He wasn’t removed from his position, but why not run? The question sits on her lips, but she drowns it with the liquor in her glass. The question doesn’t matter now, so many years later. He must have had a reason, though she does not understand it. Even if there was no good reason at all, what good would it do to drag him through that pain? Maybe if he’d run, things would have been different. Maybe. Or maybe not. And there was no reason to ponder the possibility.
So instead of asking more, instead of prying, she simply continues to listen. Listen to the horror that he had lived, to the father who wasn’t a father at all. Weaver knows she is lucky to have had the family she did, despite how short their time was. She has always known it, but it is in moments like these that she can fully appreciate it.
The story gives some sort of fullness to him, slotting in pieces she didn’t even know she was missing until now. ”I’m sorry,” she says, letting go to her glass to put a hand on his arm. It is a useless thing to say, but it is all she can offer now. ”What happened?” she asks, and her voice is soft and honest.
So instead of asking more, instead of prying, she simply continues to listen. Listen to the horror that he had lived, to the father who wasn’t a father at all. Weaver knows she is lucky to have had the family she did, despite how short their time was. She has always known it, but it is in moments like these that she can fully appreciate it.
The story gives some sort of fullness to him, slotting in pieces she didn’t even know she was missing until now. ”I’m sorry,” she says, letting go to her glass to put a hand on his arm. It is a useless thing to say, but it is all she can offer now. ”What happened?” she asks, and her voice is soft and honest.
Weaver
