It’s Monday morning.
Ruby Frances is at the counter
eating French toast.
I ask if she’s willing to listen to
what I learned at Sunday school.
She doesn’t say no.
I’m so nervous!
“Well, it’s like, uh,
holding on to a hurt—
uh, hugging a hurt, one teacher
calls it. Well, it,
uh, like, just creates more hurt.”
I breathe.
“That’s it. That’s what I learned.”
Ruby Frances pours
more syrup on her plate.
“That so?” she says.
I take another breath.
“Well, actually, there’s more,”
I say. “Since God forgives us
for all the stupid,
thoughtless, mean things
we do and say,
we should forgive others.”
I give her a long sideways look.
Is she listening?
“Right?” I say.
Ruby Frances just chomps away.
I plunge on: “If God never
forgave anyone, Heaven would be empty.
Right?”
Ruby Frances finally stops chewing.
She seems to be speaking to
the syrup bottle.
“Are you talking about you and me?
Or about you and your father?”
What?