de notre mort。
Amen。
13。
1956。
Alabama in the rain。
Our third grandchild； a beautiful girl named Tessa； was graduating from the University of Florida。 We went down on a Greyhound。 Sixty…four； I was then； a mere stripling。 Jan was fifty…nine； and as beautiful as ever。 To me； at least。 We were sitting in the seat all the way at the back； and she was fussing at me for not buying her a new camera to record the blessed event。 I opened my mouth to tell her we had a day to shop in after we got down there； and she could have a new camera if she wanted one； it would fit the budget all right； and furthermore I thought she was just fussing because she was bored with the ride and didn't like the book she'd brought。 A Perry Mason； it was。 That's when everything in my memory goes white for a bit； like film that's been left out in the sun。
Do you remember that accident？ I suppose a few folks reading this might； but mostly not。 Yet it made front…page headlines from coast to coast when it happened。 We were outside Birmingham in a driving rain； Janice plaining about her old camera； and a tire blew。 The bus waltzed sideways on the wet pavement and was hit broadside by a truck hauling fertilizer。 The truck slammed the bus into a bridge abutment at better than sixty miles an hour； crushed it against the concrete； and broke it in half。 Two shiny； rain…streaked pieces spun in two opposite directions； the one with the diesel tank in it exploding and sending a red…black fireball up into the rainygray sky。 At one moment Janice was plaining about her old Kodak； and at the very next I found myself lying on the far side of the underpass in the rain and staring at a pair of blue nylon panties that had spilled out of someone's suitcase。 WEDNESDAY was stitched