Thousand: Seven Hundred Fifty-Two

that happened? It was something he did, something you blamed God for. Frankly, I don’t understand how God avoids the blame for anything. You step softly out onto the porch. The person with your name on her lips, grown tired, is sitting on the front steps, leaned forward, her arms folded, her shoulders shaking. Might she be sobbing? You are afraid. What terrible news does she bring? Or you are angry and itch to give her a shove. Or, suddenly, a great joy fills you and you reach out to her, grateful you overcame the demon that held you to