I will get there too late, but I don’t know this yet, nor do I know I’ll never see the hospital bed, or the chair beside the bed, the chair where my sister sits, keeping a constant hand on him, skin whispering to skin. Breath and blood have slowed. She’s told him I am on my way, and I am. I’m rushing to the airport through the sort of gauzy day that dampens everything without sound. Its mist can only be seen in the distance, suspended, as if caught in the web of an enormous spider lurking high above, waiting.
Kevin Grauke is the author of two collections of stories, Shadows of Men and Yonderites. He teaches at La Salle University in Philadelphia.