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ittleas if no amount of rain
could saturate my outer layers and touch my core. I was a hard seed beyond germination. I would do fine
in Telluride. Carlo had lined up a job for me as a model in a summer fine-arts school. I would sit still for
solid hours while people tried for my skin tones.
Uda Dell and Mrs. QuintanaDoc’s assistant for twenty-one yearswere going to take shifts with Doc
Homer. His office was closed for goodand everybody now drove over to New Mexico to be healed. There
were no thunderclaps when it happened; all this time we’d thought he was indispensable. Uda and Mrs.
Quintana revered him. I couldn’t picture them feeding himbuttoning up his shirtbut I knew they would do
those things. Somehow reverence can fashion itself into kindnessin a way that love sometimes can’t.
When I went up there to tell him goodbyehe was eating a soft-boiled egg and said he couldn’t tarryhe
was in a hurry to get to the hospital.
I bobbed along with the motion of the Greyhound busleaning with the curves. When I relaxed
enough I could feel like a small chunk of rock in outer spaceperceiving no gravitational pull from any
direction: not from where I was goingnor where I had been. Not Carlonot Loydnot Doc Homer. Not
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