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Unformatted text preview: hortage. A nurse's aide, very capa- ble, was upstairs in Aunt Vivian's room going into her third quarter hour on the phone. He could hear the rise and fall of the woman's voice. He stood in the living room, looking out into the side yard. Dark- ness. Cold. Remembering. Drums of Comus. A man smiling in the darkness. Suddenly Michael was a small child again, and would never know what it meant to be strong or to be safe. Fear had kicked in the door of childhood. Fear had laid waste the safety that had been Mother. Drums and torches on Mardi Gras Night struck terror. We die when we get old. We are no more. No more. He tried to imagine himself dead. A skull in the earth. This thought had come to him often in his life. I will be that way someday, absolutely. It is a certainty, one of the few in my life. I will be dead. I may be a skull in the earth. I may be a skull in a coffin. I don't know. But I will die. It seemed the nurse's aide was crying. Not possible. There was the soft vibration of steps. The front door...
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This note was uploaded on 02/20/2010 for the course WRITING 220.200 taught by Professor Julie during the Spring '10 term at Johns Hopkins.
- Spring '10