on the table.
Aunt Zipporah raised her eyebrows and looked
at me.
"He doesn't usually come in two days in a row,"
she said.
I pitched in with the cleanup and preparations
but looked at him periodically. Aunt Zipporah again
muttered something about feeling sorry for him.
Finally, I approached him. I knew he saw me coming,
but he didn't look up.
"What are you writing so intently?" I asked. I thought he wasn't going to answer, but I didn't
move. I wasn't going to let him ignore me.
He looked up slowly.
"I'm keeping a sort of journal," he said, "but I'm
writing it in poetry."
"Really?"
"No, I'm making it up because I'm really a spy
from another planet taking notes on human behavior.
Which would you rather believe?"
"Very funny. How come you wouldn't accept
my aunt's offer for a ride today?"
"I don't like being indebted to anyone for anything."
"A ride? What's the big deal?"
"You give in on the little things and before you
know it . . ."
"What?"
"You give away your soul," he said. I know I
was smirking. He shrugged. "You asked, so I told
you. Since you're being so nosy, I'll ask you some
questions."