this is true, this is real
Richie, three years old, says, "Yes." He nods avidly.
He wears blue pajamas. He is happy to see her, and more than happy; he is rescued, resurrected, transported by love. Laura reaches into the pocket of her robe for a cigarette, changes her mind, raises her hand instead to her hair. It is almost perfect, it is almost enough to be a young mother in a yellow kitchen, touching her thick, dark hair, pregnant with another child. There are leaf shadows on the curtains; there is fresh coffee.
"G'morning, Bug," she says to Richie.
"I'm having cereal," he says. He grins. It could be said he leers. He is transparently smitten by her; he is comic and tragic in his hopeless love. He makes her think sometimes of a mouse singing amorous ballads under the window of a giantess.
"Good," she answers. "That's very good."
~ from Michael Cunningham's The Hours
He wears blue pajamas. He is happy to see her, and more than happy; he is rescued, resurrected, transported by love. Laura reaches into the pocket of her robe for a cigarette, changes her mind, raises her hand instead to her hair. It is almost perfect, it is almost enough to be a young mother in a yellow kitchen, touching her thick, dark hair, pregnant with another child. There are leaf shadows on the curtains; there is fresh coffee.
"G'morning, Bug," she says to Richie.
"I'm having cereal," he says. He grins. It could be said he leers. He is transparently smitten by her; he is comic and tragic in his hopeless love. He makes her think sometimes of a mouse singing amorous ballads under the window of a giantess.
"Good," she answers. "That's very good."
~ from Michael Cunningham's The Hours