While I’m reading, a sentence will grab me and force me to stop. I pay tribute to other authors by sharing their Damn Fine Sentences with you. Then I recount a memory the words bring up for me. It’s about how books connect with your life.
*****
"Fair is one more thing I've given up."
———Toni Morrison
——--Song of Solomon
My brother’s plane was late. I passed the time by pacing, exchanging hellos as I navigated through the mob. I expected Wayne to roll through the gate in his chair. When it came to expanses as long as airport concourses, he usually wheeled. Around the house, he walked. But he showed up at the gate on foot, backpack and coat piled on his wheelchair.
“Hey, Wayne, that looks pretty funny, you pushing your backpack.”
“Tired of sitting on that damn plane. I need to walk.”
I tried to imagine a six-footer like him folded into those seats.
“Well, hell, I’ll ride in the chair and you can push me.”
I plopped myself down and set the backpack in my lap, twisting around in the seat to gossip while we made our way to baggage claim. When we arrived at the carousel, he parked me and then waded in to wrangle his duffel bag.
A man popped out of the crowd, heading toward me. I opened my mouth to say hello. At the last second he averted his gaze and hurried past. A woman approached. I smiled up at her. “Hi,” I said. Her head bent in my direction, but just as our gazes were about to intersect, she turned away. One after another, they glanced away, their gazes bouncing off the top of my head like basketballs hitting the rim.
“The weirdest thing happened,” I said to Wayne. “I’ve become invisible.”
“Yeah. Welcome to my world.”
*****
"Fair is one more thing I've given up."
———Toni Morrison
——--Song of Solomon
My brother’s plane was late. I passed the time by pacing, exchanging hellos as I navigated through the mob. I expected Wayne to roll through the gate in his chair. When it came to expanses as long as airport concourses, he usually wheeled. Around the house, he walked. But he showed up at the gate on foot, backpack and coat piled on his wheelchair.
“Hey, Wayne, that looks pretty funny, you pushing your backpack.”
“Tired of sitting on that damn plane. I need to walk.”
I tried to imagine a six-footer like him folded into those seats.
“Well, hell, I’ll ride in the chair and you can push me.”
I plopped myself down and set the backpack in my lap, twisting around in the seat to gossip while we made our way to baggage claim. When we arrived at the carousel, he parked me and then waded in to wrangle his duffel bag.
A man popped out of the crowd, heading toward me. I opened my mouth to say hello. At the last second he averted his gaze and hurried past. A woman approached. I smiled up at her. “Hi,” I said. Her head bent in my direction, but just as our gazes were about to intersect, she turned away. One after another, they glanced away, their gazes bouncing off the top of my head like basketballs hitting the rim.
“The weirdest thing happened,” I said to Wayne. “I’ve become invisible.”
“Yeah. Welcome to my world.”
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