We Shall Rest by Sheila Black
Zócalo Public Square -

  The elm split by lightening stands above the bench where my father sat the summer he could no longer breathe enough to walk to the Avalon without stopping. I sat next to him, a little bored, a little tired of his child-like need—his insistence on walking even when he could not walk. In the film, we watched that day, a group of actors are rehearsing a play. The star runs through his lines in the car in which he is driven to and fro from his hotel to the provincial but charming theater. He is a...

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