Run
“Whether that was the time or the drugs, the concussion or the loss or the willful release of knowledge he may once have held, he couldn’t say. He walked into the winter night with Natalie, snow blowing in circles around them, a soft, enveloping sweep. She held his arm. He had her suitcase, a quilted bag containing a toothbrush and a nightgown, underwear and extra sweaters, a copy of The Magic Mountain that she was reading for a course called Twentieth-Century Classics in Translation.
Sullivan h...ad taken the class himself three years before and had done well in it. He could remember the contents of her suitcase but nothing about getting in the car, nothing about Natalie getting in beside him. Nothing at all until he saw his father sitting by his hospital bed in a room that was not unlike the one he was sitting in now.
“When I woke up my father was there and he told me that Natalie had died. My memory is that he was kind about it. He cared for Natalie, I think. He saw her as a good influence.MoreLess
Sullivan h...ad taken the class himself three years before and had done well in it. He could remember the contents of her suitcase but nothing about getting in the car, nothing about Natalie getting in beside him. Nothing at all until he saw his father sitting by his hospital bed in a room that was not unlike the one he was sitting in now.
“When I woke up my father was there and he told me that Natalie had died. My memory is that he was kind about it. He cared for Natalie, I think. He saw her as a good influence.MoreLess
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