It was of himself and a child, a little boy looking up at him with bright, pleading eyes. It could have been the face of a thousand children, a face that he used to see on the ramp, an anonymous and desolate face, beyond sorrow, beyond suffering, beyond fear, beyond hope. A face that he sent to the left, left, left, left, left, left, left, always and forever left unto oblivion. But somehow he knew this child’s face. It was Sophie’s face and his own face – the face of their son. Then the little boy’s expression changed, from one of entreaty to a look of bitter accusation. He shuddered and took the brass box out of his pocket. He opened it and looked at the little coil of Sophie’s hair. He smiled and carefully took it out placing it on the letter. Next and with some difficulty, he tore the purple lining out of the box. There beneath it, held firmly in place, were two tiny black glass tubes. With the nail of an index finger he carefully pried them out and cradled them in his palm. He. Delauter tells me taking some papers out of his briefcase.“First off I’m NOT your son, don’t tell me what I can and can’t do. That ‘woman’ doesn’t deserve a visit from me behind plate glass,” I tell him hotly getting up from the couch.“She does and she’s entitled to six weeks this summer starting in two days,” Mr. Delauter says standing up,” I’ll be at the airport to take him back to Texas ten in the morning day after tomorrow.”“My son will be there, you understand something Mr. Delauter,” My dad says standing up,” You want to help my ex wife, fine. You want to take her in and marry her, fine. But you asked for more trouble than you know how to deal with cause you want six weeks with MY son at your home.”I freeze at what Dad says, he’s gonna let them take me. I get off the loveseat and stomp back to my room; as soon as I’m in I grab a bag and start packing. Its a few minutes when Dad gets to my room; I don’t even turn to greet him.“Packing for your trip,” Dad asks leaning in the.
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