"I don't know. Too confusing," replied Free, who was a woman just turned 41 years old, from just south of Boston, in the year 2,021.
"Confusing maybe to you. But the entire book could be an instruction, a how-to, for growing old with grace, and growing must have many meanings," said Grace, a mildly older woman, who often thought of the meanings of names.
They sat in a zero-G space restaurant, gazing past Earth. The waiters walked round swiftly, deftly rearranging plates, chairs, glasses and napkins. Free held out her half-open palm. Sharyl swooped by to put their bill into the hand. Grace tilted and gawked at the smooth, light grey ceiling. "What's the difference between an under udder and an over-protective mother?"
"Is this a joke? Still confusing," Free signed her name on the paid bill.
"Free the confused, they shall never thank you," still focusing on the ceiling... of what...
Free nearly rolled her eyeballs all the way, as she put away her wallet. She remembered a New Yorker article on Joy Williams, of which she'd read most. Damien, the elder male waiter, 25 years old, caught himself voyeuring at Free and Grace. Embarrassed, he got back to work.
"We're all confused," sighed Free. The restaurant descended toward a fitful landing - an air plane travelling thru the ocean.
Suckling the under udder, the employees and employers
a poem to End the Story
my mother found a passage in an older book
Free and Grace rewind and embrace the ending
a workable solution,
to problems not identified yet,
but Scientists are one or two equations
from absolution,
The End
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