"Ray Vukcevich - In the Flesh" - читать интересную книгу автора (Vukcevich Ray)

in the flesh by Ray Vukcevich
Thinking about traveling made me feel a little queasy, but it was time to move the meat. I had to do it, had
to bite the bullet, grab the bull by the horns, get tough and get going or get off the pot or whatever.

My granddaughter would be starting kindergarten soon and we had never been in the same room
together.

Broadband only took you so far.

I was going to have to actually go there.

Since she'd been born, I'd spent a lot of time feeling guilty. A real Grandpa would move across the
country, maybe get a little house down the block where he would bake cookies, well maybe I could buy
cookies or have them delivered from a fancy bakery, and keep ponies for the apple of his eye to ride
when she came over after school. A real Grandpa might even get a Grandma so the little girl coming
through the woods with her basket of goodies wouldn't feel vaguely uneasy about the lack of
correspondences between her life and some published ideal.

The way it had worked so far was that I'd do a funds transfer, and then Mommy and Daddy would go
down to the local toy store and buy something, maybe a Barbie, and have it irradiated and wrapped.
They'd write "From Grandpa" with half a dozen exclamation points, and put it under the tree or onto the
birthday table. Someday I would have to sit her down and explain that too many exclamation marks were
like picking your nose in public. That was not the kind of thing you could say to a child in an email.

My neighbor, Maria, when I suggested she might come with me and be Grandma said, "No way!" but
she did agree to watch my apple trees while I was gone. This time of year there wasn't much to do, but it
made me feel better knowing Maria would be prowling around in her overalls with a flashlight. No, wait a
minute why would she be out there at night? I just liked to picture her in her overalls. There is something
so sexy about a woman in overalls, the way you unhook those shoulder straps andтАжbut that's another
story.

Maria volunteered to go with me to the airport and bring my clothes home afterwards, but I told her I
had that covered. I would just throw my clothes away. Pretty extravagant, she said, but I could tell she
was glad. No one likes to go to the airport.

She was there to see me off when my cab arrived. I'd put on torn jeans and a red checked shirt with only
two buttons (one at the top and one at the bottom) and cheap rubber flip-flops. I kissed Maria on the
cheek. I put my hand in the cab's scanner, and the back door popped open.

The driver didn't bother turning on the speaker, so there was no small talk on the long drive into the city
and then on to the airport. When we arrived I punched in a few bucks tip, more out of habit than
gratitude, and the door popped open again and I got out.

I was still a long way from where I needed to be. My next stop was at a vending machine for a traveling
robe. There were at least a dozen people milling around the vending machines, and I wondered if there
was a meat convention either here or wherever all those people might be going.

I followed the arrows to the main door. I stopped and read the sign posted out front as required by law.
The sign explained that once I stepped through the door, I would not be able to step back through it.