‘I like writing fiction better.’ He looked at her. ‘Did you ever write?’ ‘I used to, in school.’ She looked at her kids. ‘But with those...two…’ An idea struck him. ‘Are you working right now?’ She shook her head and the mass of curly light brown hair he’d always wanted to bury his hands and face in shook and trembled. ‘No. Bill-my husband-says he makes enough, and with the kids…you know.’ ‘I remember what it was like. Fortunately for me, my daughter is all grown up,’ Lou replied. ‘Ever thing. It's going to be awful hard to talk with you if you can't speak!" she sighed.He hung his head. Then he raised it and quickly crossed the room. He rummaged through some boxes and brought back what looked to her like a child's school chalkboard. "Nnnaah!" he said. He began to scratch something on the chalkboard: "I write," it said."You can write?" she asked. He indicated he could write a little. "Well, I will teach you how to write more so we can talk to each other - we are going to have to be. More

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