The rain came hard in the early morning, shushing me awake. I opened my eyes to the timeless dim, remembered the day's return to obligation, listened for signs of Tucker. Nothing. Rolled out of bed into some guise of upright parenthood, shuffled to Tucker's room where pillows and blankets masqueraded as boy. My eyes were not good witnesses, clouded still by the hush of the rain. It was the bathroom, the warm damp and sweet shampoo smell of it that told me Tucker had manned-up to this day. "Tucker was here," the sweet warmth testified. "He's gone on ahead, but if you hurry, you just might catch him up."
Telling: Streams & Logs