Post by David Young Henning on Nov 29, 2010 20:59:51 GMT -8
Tillotson? That was a new one. But now Henning's brain was starting to hum with fatigue, and he doubted now whether he'd be able to get through the scrapbook tonight. He managed not to yawn again (he thought guiltily of his own grandmother, probably around Polly's age, who would have smacked him for doing it the first time) and tucked the book under his arm so he could carry the radio in both hands. As he'd thought, it was heavier than it looked. They really didn't make appliances like they did in the old days, he thought wistfully, which was unlike him.
"Don't worry about my ears, Miss Oxford. You've been the first person I've talked to at length since coming to town, actually. It's been a pleasure. And I'll see you at supper if I'm not still asleep... I've been on the road for a while, though, so I may retire early. Thanks for your help with everything, and good night!"
He made his way down the hall to his bedroom and lay on his back, fully clothed, with the radio and the scrapbook placed next to his head on the pillow. They felt oddly like protective talismans. He tried to brush away the thought, but it kept coming back, like a dog too loyal to know when it's no longer wanted. He balanced the radio on his chest and idly twisted the dials, imagining that he was adjusting the sound of the rain outside.
What was wrong with him lately? Ever since arriving here, he'd been having such uncommonly impractical notions. Certainly the oddball townsfolk weren't helping. He decided he quite liked Polly, though. She was helpful and she got things done. That was something to be admired. Not like some people he could mention. Some people... he barely knew. He knew, though... He could just tell...
With the sun still up but curtained by sheets of water, Henning drifted off to sleep, the weight of the radio held in place by his hand, slowly moving up and down with each breath he took.
"Don't worry about my ears, Miss Oxford. You've been the first person I've talked to at length since coming to town, actually. It's been a pleasure. And I'll see you at supper if I'm not still asleep... I've been on the road for a while, though, so I may retire early. Thanks for your help with everything, and good night!"
He made his way down the hall to his bedroom and lay on his back, fully clothed, with the radio and the scrapbook placed next to his head on the pillow. They felt oddly like protective talismans. He tried to brush away the thought, but it kept coming back, like a dog too loyal to know when it's no longer wanted. He balanced the radio on his chest and idly twisted the dials, imagining that he was adjusting the sound of the rain outside.
What was wrong with him lately? Ever since arriving here, he'd been having such uncommonly impractical notions. Certainly the oddball townsfolk weren't helping. He decided he quite liked Polly, though. She was helpful and she got things done. That was something to be admired. Not like some people he could mention. Some people... he barely knew. He knew, though... He could just tell...
With the sun still up but curtained by sheets of water, Henning drifted off to sleep, the weight of the radio held in place by his hand, slowly moving up and down with each breath he took.