Can you hear me okay?"
It took a few moments before he recognized the face. "I can see and hear just fine, Billy. What do you want?"
“I know you don't want to hear this but if you're going to insist on living in that place all alone, I should have some SecureVision cameras installed. That way, if anything happened to–”
“You're not spying on me with no cameras!”
“Not spying, Grandfather. They just alert the medtechs if you fall or…”
“I don't need anyone to babysit me.”
"Well, anyway, that’s not why I called. I wanted to remind you that Amber is coming to visit you tomorrow."
"Amber? Is that one of my grandkids?"
"No Grandfather, I'm your grandson." There was impatience in William’s tone, only somewhat disguised by a look of concern. "Amber is my granddaughter. She's your great-great-granddaughter."
"Oh," Ben muttered, chagrined. "So you say she's coming to visit?"
"Yes, don't you remember? She's coming to see you tomorrow. And I wish you'd try to talk to her.”
"About what?"
"Her mother says she's been spending time with some university extremists, reading prohibited books, that sort of thing."
"Prohibited books?"
"We thought maybe she might listen to you. She's always liked you. She won't listen to her mother or me. Will you do that? Will you talk some sense into her?"
"I'll take her for a ride in my car."
"Your car? Grandfather, that automobile's almost as old as you are. You shouldn't be driving that thing."
"What are you talking about Billy?" Outrage fortified his voice. "Driving my car's the only thing I got left in this miserable life!"
"That antique is dangerous. You should get rid of it."
"Maybe then you ought to get rid of me too."
"Grandfather, don't be ridiculous."
"Then don't be a dickhead, boy. I was driving that car before you were toilet-trained. So don't be telling me to trash her like she was some worn-out old shoe."
"All right, we'll talk about it some other time. Just remember , Amber will be there tomorrow."
"I'll remember."
"And, Grandfather, I'm seventy-six years old. Nobody calls me 'Billy' any more. My name's William."
Ben was still staring at the phone display as it went black. "You're still little snot-nosed Billy to me," he said to the blank screen.
Grumbling, he made his way with some effort to the side door. "Thinks he can tell me what to do just because he's an old fart now. Let's see how bossy he is when he's a hundred." The door dilated at his approach. "Talking like a crazy man–get rid of my car. Sure, something's old, so it must be useless. Just dump it, replace it, get some newfangled flying thingamajig .” He stepped into the garage and the lights came on.
The sight of it calmed him. He stood steadfast, staring. It was a dazzling blue vision, trimmed in shimmering chrome and carved with sleek dynamic lines that conveyed the quality of motion even while stationary. Just seeing the old Ford was enough to alleviate the grumpy aftertaste left by the conversation with his grandson.
He limped around to the driver's side, inhaling the lingering scent of oil and exhaust. His fingers trailed across the hood, relishing the cool, soothing metal. So many years together; so many memories. How could his grandson understand? How could anyone understand when they made such a ritual of replacing the old with the new? It didn't matter if the oven still cooked properly, the stereo still sounded great or the clothes weren't worn. What mattered was that there was always more money to spend–fresh styles, novel gadgets–toss out the used, buy the up-to-date.
He peered through the driver's window. A strange face stared back at him.
It took a moment to recognize his own reflection, disguised as it was by ruckled rows of mottled skin and wispy, wild strands of white hair. His face reminded him of a shirt that had been left in the hamper too long.
How different he'd looked the first time he'd gazed through that glass. He'd been a dashing young rogue of
It took a few moments before he recognized the face. "I can see and hear just fine, Billy. What do you want?"
“I know you don't want to hear this but if you're going to insist on living in that place all alone, I should have some SecureVision cameras installed. That way, if anything happened to–”
“You're not spying on me with no cameras!”
“Not spying, Grandfather. They just alert the medtechs if you fall or…”
“I don't need anyone to babysit me.”
"Well, anyway, that’s not why I called. I wanted to remind you that Amber is coming to visit you tomorrow."
"Amber? Is that one of my grandkids?"
"No Grandfather, I'm your grandson." There was impatience in William’s tone, only somewhat disguised by a look of concern. "Amber is my granddaughter. She's your great-great-granddaughter."
"Oh," Ben muttered, chagrined. "So you say she's coming to visit?"
"Yes, don't you remember? She's coming to see you tomorrow. And I wish you'd try to talk to her.”
"About what?"
"Her mother says she's been spending time with some university extremists, reading prohibited books, that sort of thing."
"Prohibited books?"
"We thought maybe she might listen to you. She's always liked you. She won't listen to her mother or me. Will you do that? Will you talk some sense into her?"
"I'll take her for a ride in my car."
"Your car? Grandfather, that automobile's almost as old as you are. You shouldn't be driving that thing."
"What are you talking about Billy?" Outrage fortified his voice. "Driving my car's the only thing I got left in this miserable life!"
"That antique is dangerous. You should get rid of it."
"Maybe then you ought to get rid of me too."
"Grandfather, don't be ridiculous."
"Then don't be a dickhead, boy. I was driving that car before you were toilet-trained. So don't be telling me to trash her like she was some worn-out old shoe."
"All right, we'll talk about it some other time. Just remember , Amber will be there tomorrow."
"I'll remember."
"And, Grandfather, I'm seventy-six years old. Nobody calls me 'Billy' any more. My name's William."
Ben was still staring at the phone display as it went black. "You're still little snot-nosed Billy to me," he said to the blank screen.
Grumbling, he made his way with some effort to the side door. "Thinks he can tell me what to do just because he's an old fart now. Let's see how bossy he is when he's a hundred." The door dilated at his approach. "Talking like a crazy man–get rid of my car. Sure, something's old, so it must be useless. Just dump it, replace it, get some newfangled flying thingamajig .” He stepped into the garage and the lights came on.
The sight of it calmed him. He stood steadfast, staring. It was a dazzling blue vision, trimmed in shimmering chrome and carved with sleek dynamic lines that conveyed the quality of motion even while stationary. Just seeing the old Ford was enough to alleviate the grumpy aftertaste left by the conversation with his grandson.
He limped around to the driver's side, inhaling the lingering scent of oil and exhaust. His fingers trailed across the hood, relishing the cool, soothing metal. So many years together; so many memories. How could his grandson understand? How could anyone understand when they made such a ritual of replacing the old with the new? It didn't matter if the oven still cooked properly, the stereo still sounded great or the clothes weren't worn. What mattered was that there was always more money to spend–fresh styles, novel gadgets–toss out the used, buy the up-to-date.
He peered through the driver's window. A strange face stared back at him.
It took a moment to recognize his own reflection, disguised as it was by ruckled rows of mottled skin and wispy, wild strands of white hair. His face reminded him of a shirt that had been left in the hamper too long.
How different he'd looked the first time he'd gazed through that glass. He'd been a dashing young rogue of
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