By Scott William Carter
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I could lose my job, sir. Look, the stuff is broken. " "That's all right," Jack said. " Jack swallowed. He hated how the events of his life had conspired to bring him to this point, when he had to share the intimate details of his own pain with this stupid kid who had probably never suffered, who had never known loss or pain, who could not possibly understand why it was so important that Jack take his son inside. " he asked the clerk. "Robert," the kid said, sighing. " Jack shook his head. "Robert, my son has an inoperable brain tumor.
Sorry about the temp," the clerk said, locking the doors behind them. " Wet tennis shoes squeaked across the tiled floor. Jack had not told the clerk, but he had another, stronger reason for wanting to come inside. He had not yet told his son he was going to die. He was waiting for the right time. He did not how to break it to Travis, especially since Jack was an atheist who believed there was nothing waiting for them after death, but he knew he could only go on for so long pretending the headaches and the blindness would go away.
The boredom was gone. In its place was something Jack hated even more: pity. "Oh, I thought -- I didn't -- I'm sorry, sir," the kid stammered. "It's all right. " "Oh . . well, it's not working. Like I said--" "My son is blind now," Jack said. " Jack saw the question forming on the kid's lips: Then why? But the kid didn't ask. He just nodded and pointed to the glass doors next to the booth. Jack went back to the bench. " Travis asked. "Yes," Jack said. " The clerk rattled open the deadbolt and opened the glass doors.
A Dark Planetarium by Scott William Carter