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with rough, knotted bark and broad green leaves. But I had not
been raised a Protestant, nor in any sort of religion for that matter,
and I did not feel any sudden inclination to become one.
I did not get up until late morning, when my desire to lie still and
do nothing was overcome by the grumbling of my stomach.
Grandfather was standing by the sink, rinsing a sponge. The pile
of dirty dishes that I’d seen when I’d gotten up in the middle of the
night to get a drink was gone. Not a crumb was on the floor. I stood
next to him and poured myself a glass of water. The glass was cool
against my fingers.
“Aren’t you going to church?”
“Why would I do that?” He frowned as he wiped down the bench
top. “God’s never saved me.”
The white marble twinkled in the soft morning sunlight.
“I don’t know,” I said. I didn’t know anything. “I thought it was
the thing to do around here.”
Grandfather snorted.
The foil wrapper of my medication crinkled and I popped two
pills into my mouth and swallowed them. Grandfather gave me
quick sidelong glance. He didn’t say anything.
“I’m going to the airfield,” he said, “Want to go for a spin?”
I stared at him.
“You can still fly?” My words were stiff in my mouth.
His smile stretched to his eyes.
“Like they can stop me.”
I looked out the window of the plane; Lake Ontario was below
us, deep, dark and ancient. Blue above us, blue below us. There was
a careful energy in Grandfather’s movements as he fiddled with the
controls. The plane was a antique Cessna A-37 Dragonfly;
Grandfather’s pride and joy. The great engine of the beast hummed
and throbbed beneath me. Something rattled near my ear and the
thick straps of my seat belt dug into my chest.
I wanted to ask him about the war. I knew nothing about the
Vietnam war. History wasn’t something that I’d ever enjoyed, nor
paid attention to in school. He’d killed people. I knew that. He’d
killed people without ever seeing their faces, without ever knowing
how they lived, where they died. He’d spent more time waiting on
the edge of his seat, everything perfectly in order and ready to go,
the taste of blood on his lips, his heart thumping in anticipation of
On The Floor
Of The World
11