We were riding in the back of
the minivan together. A chance to have a little chat, to ask her questions, to
show that I think about her and care. It is short ride from the restaurant to
their house. Before we pull out of the parking lot, she turns her back to me at
a 45-degree angle, puts her earphones in, and stares out the window. There will
be no conversation this evening. I will not force the situation; I know she
feel awkward talking to her uncle and I understand how that feels.
Nevertheless, as I watch the back of her head, with the occasional flashes of
her face reflected in the window when we pass beneath streetlights, she continues
to look passively at the never-ending rows of strip malls, and an 11-year-old
cuts me to the quick.
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