Fatima’s life had been rearranged, but not the father’s life. She could feel the resentment sweep through her like a hot flush of wind funneling through a slum trail. She reluctantly thought that with patience and a bit of persistence she could get the father to accept responsibility for the child, even though the balding servant shut her out.Sometimes she sat on a cool spot overlooking the slums, hung her head, and wept with anger and bitterness. Then she would see something beyond her anger. The father presented an opportunity. Maybe he would miraculously change his attitude, and the servant would change his mind, and all would be well under Allah, and the boy or girl would have a father and food to eat.She caught herself imagining too much. She spotted a small child along the road following a man from the hills. She wondered what possessed such a child. All children dreamt, she thought, and children and adults connected in their capacity to dream.Banging on the Drakni Drive home. So many years ago, I was a young man. I was strong, in shape, I ran and played, life was good. I enjoyed meeting girls, from the time I was very young on up until those I attracted were women. I was just 28 when my world crashed. Such a silly thing, feeling my oats, the fine brand new Corvette I had purchased was massively powerful. I did not make it home that day, there was no wife to be concerned. There was only me, my apartment, my budding expertise in technology. Management noticed, I was way ahead of the curve, they paid me. Lord did they pay me! I could do anything, make anything, the keyboard was my world away from my world. I remember that day, mostly, I had purchased the car, I wrote them a personal check. Some of the staff came out to watch me leave, waiting for me to have troubles. I had none. I rolled out on the freeway, headed North. The car felt wonderful, I was free, my long blond hair flowed back behind me. I leaned on the gas, the power under me beyond imagination if.
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