Elsewhere(65)

Liz nods again.

"All these years, I have felt despair as you cannot imagine. I hit you with my cab and I did not stop."

"You called the hospital from a pay phone, right?" Liz asks.

Amadou nods. He looks down at his shoes.

"I've thought about it more than anybody, I guess. I've thought about it, and stopping probably wouldn't have made a difference anyway," Liz says, placing her hand on Amadou's arm.

There are tears in Amadou's eyes. "I kept wishing I would get caught."

"It wasn't your fault," Liz says. "I didn't look both ways."

"You must tell me honestly. Has your life been very bad here?"

Liz thinks about Amadou's question before she answers. "No. My life has been good actually."

"But you must have missed many things?"

"As I've come to see it, my life would have been either here or elsewhere anyway," Liz replies.

"Is that a joke?" Amadou asks.

"If it amuses you, it is." Liz laughs a little. "So, Amadou, may I ask you why you didn't stop that day? I've always wanted to know."

"This is no excuse, but my little boy had been very sick. The medical bills were astounding. If I had lost the cab or your parents had asked for money, I did not know what would have happened to me or my family. I was desperate. Of course, this is no excuse." Amadou shakes his head.

"Can you ever forgive me?"

"I forgave you long ago," Liz says.

"But you were so young," Amadou says. "I stole many good years from you."

"A life isn't measured in hours and minutes. It's the quality, not the length. All things considered, I've been luckier than most. Almost sixteen good years on Earth, and I've already had eight good ones here. I expect to have almost eight more before all's said and done. Nearly thirty-two years total, and that's not too shabby."

"You're seven years old now? You seem very mature."

"Well, I'm seven-eight now, and it's different than being plain seven. I would have been twentyfour, you know," Liz says. "I do feel myself getting younger some days."

"What does it feel like?" Amadou asks.

Liz thinks for a moment before she answers. "Like falling asleep one minute, like waking up the next. Sometimes I forget. Sometimes I'm worried I will forget." Liz laughs. "I remember the first day I felt truly young. It was when my little brother, Alvy, turned twelve. I had turned eleven that same year."

"It must be strange," Amadou says. "This getting younger."

Liz shrugs. "You get older, you get younger, and I'm not sure the difference is as great as I once thought. Would you like a balloon for your son?"

"Thank you," Amadou replies, selecting a red one from a large bouquet of balloons that sits by Liz's desk. "How did you know my son was here?" he asks.

"I've been watching you off and on for years," Liz admits. "I know he is a good boy and I know you are a good man."

Childhood

Owen is six, and Liz is four.

When the weather is fine, they spend afternoons in Betty's garden. He wears a paper crown, she a pink tutu.

On the last of a fortnight of fine days, Liz places an old copy of Tuck Everlasting in Owen's lap.

"What's that for?" Owen asks.

"Story?" Liz smiles sweetly, revealing brand-new baby teeth.

"I don't want to read your stupid girl book," Owen says. "Read it yourself."

Liz decides to take Owen's advice. She picks up the book and holds it in front of her. And then, the strangest thing happens. She finds she cannot read. Maybe it's my eyes, she thinks. She squints at the text, but it makes no difference.

"Owen," says Liz, "there's something wrong with this book."

"Let me see it," Owen says. He opens the book, inspects it, and returns it to her. "There's nothing wrong with it, Liz," he declares.

Liz holds the book as close to her eyes as she can and then at arm's length. Although she does not know why, she laughs. She hands it to Owen. "You do it," she commands.

"Oh, all right," Owen says. "Honesdy, Liz, you're such a bore." He removes the bookmark and begins to read from Tuck Everlasting with a distinct lack of feeling: " ' "Pa thinks it's something left over from well, from some other plan for the way the world should be," said Jesse. "Some plan that didn't work out too good. And so everything was changed. Except that the spring was passed over, somehow or other. Maybe he's right. I don't know. But you see " ' "

Liz interrupts him. "Owen."

Owen tosses the book aside, frustrated. "What is it now? You shouldn't ask a person to read just to interrupt."

"Owen," Liz continues, "do you remember that game?"

"What game?"

"We were big," says Liz, "I was soooo big, bigger every day, and our faces were like this all the time." Liz frowns and furrows her brow in an exaggerated fashion. "And there was a house and a school. And a car and a job and a dog! And I was old! I was more old than you! And everything was rush-rush quick, and hard, so hard." Liz laughs again, a chortling little bird call of a laugh.