A Boy Who Could Keep Swan In His Head

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• He wanted to explain more as they ate the peach pie. As his fork dipped into the mashed potatoes and the minced meat, he wanted to say that bedroom was a prison and sanctuary, and how he had never felt nearer and farther from his father than when he was reading to him. How it is sometimes, when words and stories cause a chuckle and
• Smiles, the body in bed almost becomes his father. And other times, no matter how or what they read, the body remains motionless. But as usual, words did not help him.
• “Miss Delmonte's glib gabbering terrified him, the way she threw words to the wind knowing where they would land. She would definitely have assumed that everyone possessed this ability. She hummed her words and laughed midway through, then carried on as if nothing had happened. She deliberately placed obstacles in her path so that she could jump over them.
• “I don’t forget to hear voices so far away, the words blurred, making them look like distant figures that we deliberately obscure. The light was also different, more diffused and softer. The soft curves provided a haven from the chipped edges of the well-intentioned. Handshakes that are too firm, smiles that are too sincere, and pressure on the shoulder that's too painful or too light. And always that nonsense about time healing everything. What if time made more room for memory?