I need to shed this battered body so my spirit can soar free
A chance encounter with a young woman where the space between us vanished on contact. It happened yesterday at the garage sale. She was lingering over my typewriter and I walked over to be of assistance.
“I love typewriters,” she said. “I love the pressure of the keys and the sound the letters make hitting the platen. I love how it feels to throw the carriage.”
She left me speechless.
My brother’s wife came off the porch and declared: “You remind him of his granddaughter!”
“I already have a grandfather,” the girl said, knowing that what my brother’s wife had said wasn’t true.
A thin girl in her early 20s with soft intelligent eyes and a slight blemish on her cheek. A biology major at the university who’d been rebellious in high school and started reading on her own after she graduated. She doesn’t just love books, she loves good books, the same way she loves typewriters. I sold her mine for a dollar and carried it to her car
We stood talking for a long time, and before she drove off I gave her two of my novels and my email address. “Let me know what you think,” I said, and she touched my arm, got in her car, and drove off.
When I turned, everyone on the porch was staring at me.