0ur young father walked Ash Alley whistling "Rescue the Perishing," but already he carried mine tunnels home in his black-streaked breath. It was like first sleet against an attic window. My mother would look at him, her lips a line of impatience and fear. "Your lungs will soon be stone," she said. "It's good money, Dorse. It's our only money."

Some of the men who stopped at our house to see my father had tongues like fish that stuck out between words. Gray-faced, shoulders bony, they all seemed about to cave in. My mother would leave the room, her lips thinner than ever, but the cough followed her across the linoleum, down cellar steps, hunkered close when she planted sage and primrose. The cough was like a child. It was always hungry. It demanded attention. It woke us up at odd times and sat in the good chair by the window. In the winter, it trailed behind my father like a peacock feather on a woman's hat.

One summer he told us we were on a planet going nowhere fast. He made a model he called an orrery, and showed us how the heavens worked. The center was bright and hung there like one of my mother's peony blossoms. "That there's what pushes it," he said. "And that's what made the coal."

We looked at him and nodded, but we had our own ideas about what made it go. We could hear it behind the least little thing. 

Our young father walked down Ash Alley, whistling (making a musical sound by blowing air) a song called "Rescue the Perishing." Even then, the coal mine clung (stuck closely) to him. His breath carried the black dust home, sounding rough (harsh and uneven) like sleet (frozen rain) hitting an attic (space under a roof) window.

My mother would watch (look at carefully) him, her lips pressed tight with worry (feeling anxious or concerned) and frustration (feeling upset because of difficulties). "Your lungs will turn to stone soon," she said.

"It's good money, Marge. It's the only money," he replied (answered).

The men who came to visit (come to see) my father looked just as worn (damaged by use or tiredness) as he did. Their faces were gray (dull and colorless), their shoulders thin and bony (all skin and bones). They seemed (appeared to be) like they might fall apart (break down) at any moment. My mother didn’t stay around them long. She would leave the room, her lips thinner (less full) than ever, but the sound of coughing (making a harsh noise from the throat) followed (went after) her.

The cough was like an unwelcome (not wanted) guest (visitor) in our house. It was always there, demanding (needing strongly) attention (focus or care) like a hungry (needing food) child. It would wake (cause to stop sleeping) us up in the night and settle (stay in place) itself in my father’s favorite (most liked) chair by the window. In the winter, the cough clung to my father like the long feather (soft part of a bird) on a fancy (decorative or special) woman’s hat.

One summer, my father told us we were living on a planet spinning (turning in circles) through space. To explain (make clear), he built (made by putting parts together) a model (small copy of something) he called an orrery (model of the solar system). It showed how the sun and planets moved (changed position). The sun sat in the middle, glowing (shining brightly) like one of my mother’s bright (full of light) peony (a type of flower) flowers.

"That’s what makes it all work," he said, pointing (directing attention with a finger) to the center (middle). "That’s what made the coal too."

We nodded (moved our heads up and down), but we had our own thoughts (ideas) about what kept everything going. We could hear it, quietly (without making much noise) moving behind every little thing.

My half sister is shrieking in the front seat of the car while her husband-a gambler like our father- races through the mountains at top speed. This trip feels like a roller-coaster ride. My half sister's husband can't wait to reach Las Vegas and lose his wife's money. Their son and daughter hold each other tight in the backseat where I sit too. My half sister's daughter-who is older than me! is also shrieking. I keep my nose pressed against the window glass. I am not afraid.

My half sister's husband laughs gleefully as he makes a hairpin turn on the steep mountain road without slowing down or honking the horn first. As we round each bend, my half sister lets out a scream and begs him to slow down. The more she pleads, the wilder he drives. "You'll kill us all!" she cries. But her husband is having too much fun to listen. I don't listen either. I don't let anyone disturb my daydream: I am home in New York with this French boy named Jean. We are rowing on the lake in Central Park. We are having a very good time. 

My half-sister is screaming in the front seat while her husband—who loves gambling (playing games for money) like our dad—drives fast through the mountains. This trip feels like a roller-coaster (a fast, exciting ride) ride. He is in a rush (hurry) to get to Las Vegas and lose his wife’s money. Their son and daughter are holding each other tightly (firmly) in the backseat next to me. My half-sister’s daughter, who is older than me, is also screaming. I press my face against the window. I’m not scared (afraid).

Her husband laughs as he makes a sharp (sudden and quick) turn on the steep (very high and slanted) mountain road. He doesn’t slow down or honk (make a warning sound) the horn. Every time we go around a curve (bending road), my half-sister screams and begs (asks desperately) him to drive slower. The more she asks, the faster he goes. “You’ll kill us all!” she yells, but he’s having too much fun to care.

I don’t pay attention (focus) to them. I’m lost in my daydream (imagination). In my mind, I’m back home in New York with a French boy named Jean. We’re rowing (paddling a boat) a boat on the lake in Central Park and having a wonderful time.

Barbarita waited impatiently for her ride as beads of sweat dripped from her eyebrows into her third cup of cold syrupy espresso. She was headed for the toilet when she heard the knocking sounds of Mima's old Impala. "About time you got here," yelled Barbarita from the Florida room.

"It wouldn't start this morning."

Barbarita got in, tilted the rearview mirror, and applied enough rouge to her face for a healthier look. She wanted to make a good impression on the doctor who would ap- prove her medical records for her green card. On the way to Jackson Memorial, Mima talked about her grandchildren.

Barbarita knocked down all the Bibles and Reader's Digests on name. the table when the nurse finally called her

"Sorry, ma'am, but you can't come in," the nurse said to Mima.

"I'm her interpreter," replied the polyglot.

"No bueno," said the doctor grimly as he walked in with Barbarita's X-rays. He told Mima, "Ask her if she had TB."

Mima turned to Barbarita. "He says, if you have a television?"

"Tell him yes, but in Havana. Not in Miami. But my daughter has a television here."

Mima told the doctor, "She says she had TV in Cuba, not in Miami, but her daughter has TV here."

"In that case we need to test her daughter for TB too."

Mima translated, "He says he needs to test your daugh- ter's television to make sure it works, otherwise you cannot get your green card."

"Why the television?" asked a puzzled Barbarita.

"How many times did I tell you you needed to buy one? Don't you know, Barbarita? This is America." 

Barbarita waited nervously (anxiously) for her ride, wiping sweat off her forehead as she finished her third cup of sweet (sugary), cold espresso. She was heading (going) to the bathroom when she heard the rattling (shaking noise) of Mima’s old Impala outside.

“Finally!” Barbarita shouted (yelled) from the Florida room.

“It wouldn’t start this morning,” Mima called back.

Barbarita got in the car, adjusted (moved into position) the rearview mirror, and put on some blush (red makeup) to make her face look healthier (stronger and better). She wanted to look good for the doctor who would approve (accept) her medical records for her green card. On the way to Jackson Memorial, Mima chatted (talked casually) about her grandchildren.

At the clinic, Barbarita accidentally (by mistake) knocked over a pile of Bibles and magazines on the table when the nurse called her name.

“Sorry, ma’am, but you can’t come in,” the nurse told Mima.

“I’m her interpreter (translator),” Mima replied proudly (with confidence).

The doctor walked in, looking serious (focused and concerned). “No bueno,” he said, holding Barbarita’s X-rays. He asked Mima, “Does she have TB?”
Mima turned to Barbarita. “He’s asking if you have a television.”
“Tell him yes, but in Havana. Not in Miami. My daughter has one here, though.”

Mima told the doctor, “She says she had TV in Cuba, not in Miami, but her daughter has one here.”

The doctor frowned (looked unhappy). “Then we’ll need to test her daughter for TB as well.”

Mima turned to Barbarita. “He says he needs to test your daughter’s television. If it doesn’t work, you can’t get your green card.”

“Why does my TV matter?” Barbarita asked, confused (uncertain or unsure).

“How many times did I tell you to buy one? Don’t you get (understand) it, Barbarita? This is America!”

By the time they reached Indiana, Bill realized that y Ruthie, his driving companion, was incapable of theoretical debate. She drove okay, she went halves on gas, etc., but she refused to argue. She didn't seem to know how. Bill was used to East Coast women who disputed everything he said, every step of the way. Ruthie stuck to simple observation, like "Look, cows." He chalked it up to the fact that she was from rural Ohio and thrilled to death to be anywhere else.

She didn't mind driving into the setting sun. The third evening out, Bill rested his eyes while she cruised along making the occasional announcement.

"Indian paintbrush. A golden eagle."

Miles later he frowned. There was no Indian paint- brush, that he knew of, near Chicago.

The next evening, driving, Ruthie said, "I never thought I'd see a Bigfoot in real life." Bill turned and looked at the side of the road streaming innocently out behind them. Two red spots winked back-reflectors nailed to a tree stump.

"Ruthie, I'll drive," he said. She stopped the car and they changed places in the light of the evening star.

"I'm so glad I got to come with you." Ruthie said. Her eyes were big, blue, and capable of seeing wonderful sights. A white buffalo near Fargo. A UFO above Twin Falls. A handsome genius in the person of Bill himself. This last vision came to her in Spokane and Bill decided to let it ride. 

By the time they reached Indiana, Bill realized that his driving partner, Ruthie, couldn't argue (disagree or debate) about ideas. She drove fine, paid for half the gas, and so on, but she didn’t want to argue. She didn’t seem to know how. Bill was used to women from the East Coast who disagreed (did not agree) with everything he said. Ruthie, however, just pointed out simple things, like "Look, cows." Bill figured (thought) it was because she was from rural (in the countryside) Ohio and was excited to be anywhere else.

She didn’t mind driving into the setting (going down) sun. On the third night, Bill rested his eyes while she kept driving, occasionally (now and then) saying things.

"Indian paintbrush. A golden eagle."

A while (some time) later, Bill frowned (made a sad face). He knew there were no Indian paintbrush flowers near Chicago.

The next evening, Ruthie said, “I never thought I’d see a Bigfoot in real life.” Bill looked out the window at the side of the road. Two red spots were blinking (flashing) back at him—reflectors (objects that reflect light) on a tree stump.

“Ruthie, I’ll drive,” he said. She stopped the car, and they switched places (changed) under the evening star.

“I’m so glad I got to come with you,” Ruthie said. Her big, blue eyes seemed to see wonderful things. A white buffalo near Fargo. A UFO (unidentified flying object) above Twin Falls. And a handsome genius (very smart person) in Bill. Bill decided not to argue when she said that, especially in Spokane.

There here's a bomb on this plane. I offer no proof. And yet I know. Panic constricts my breathing. My heart can be heard, I'm sure of that. It ticks in my ear like an egg timer. I get out of my seat slowly so as not to alarm the others. In the rest room I splash my face with cold water. The bomb is with the cargo. We're approaching Clinic City. The plane touches down. The bomb, though armed, does not explode.

In the Clinic City hospital I have to share a room with a heart patient. "What are you here for?" he asks. "Brain tumor," I say. He perks up, interested. "How's your ticker?" he says. His wife, large and phlegmatic, visits twice a day. They whisper. "You're terminal?" she asks, coyly. It's as if she's asked me about the weather in Des Moines. "Not that I know of," I say. "Brain tumor." her husband whispers, nudging her. They exchange loving glances. I know what they are thinking. It's clear: They want my heart. "Macroadenoma." I say. "Nonmalignant." They wink at each other. She consoles me with a ladyfinger. After the operation I fly home, weak but still sensitive to threats.

I appreciate your interest. I honor your adrenalized stare. Your fears are justified. I'm sorry. I will sit here in my living room and decide what to tell you. Yes, there is no hope. But remember, some fuses are duds, some tumors are benign, some heart patients recover on their own. You have time to change your life. 

There is a bomb (explosive device) on this plane. I don’t have proof, but I know. I can’t breathe because of panic (strong fear). My heart is loud, like an egg timer ticking in my ear. I slowly get out of my seat so I don’t scare anyone. In the restroom, I splash my face with cold water. The bomb is with the cargo (goods carried by the plane). We’re landing in Clinic City. The plane lands, and the bomb doesn’t go off.

In the Clinic City hospital, I have to share a room with a heart (organ that pumps blood) patient. "What are you here for?" he asks. "Brain tumor (a growth of abnormal cells in the brain)," I say. He gets interested. "How's your ticker (heart)?" he asks. His wife, big and calm (quiet, relaxed), visits twice a day. They whisper (speak very softly). "You're terminal (likely to lead to death)?" she asks, like she's asking about the weather. "Not that I know of," I say. "Brain tumor." Her husband whispers, nudging (gently pushing) her. They share a loving (showing care) look. I know what they’re thinking: They want my heart. "Macroadenoma (a type of noncancerous tumor)," I say. "Nonmalignant (not cancerous)." They wink (close one eye quickly) at each other. She gives me a ladyfinger (small sweet biscuit) cookie. After the operation (medical procedure), I fly home, weak (not strong) but still worried.

I appreciate (feel thankful for) your interest (attention). I see your worried (concerned) look. Your fears (strong worries) are okay. I'm sorry. I will sit here in my living room and decide what to say. Yes, there’s no hope. But remember, some fuses (devices that start explosions) don’t work, some tumors (abnormal growths) are not dangerous, and some heart patients get better on their own. You have time to change your life.

Darlene and Johnny ran over their Chinese pug Sugar on New Year's Eve. Although the dog lived, Darlene took it as a sign to quit drinking, and she did. Johnny said he'd cut back.

Needing a change, they moved to a weathered gray cottage with a sixty-foot tower, overlooking the ocean at Alligator Point. Darlene wanted to name their house "Beside the Point." Johnny said, "That's four-plus dumb." Every morning the dogs on their street, Sam,

Gumbo, and Red the wolfdog, went along to work, riding in the back of pickup trucks. Sugar stayed home.

"Corona and lime, party time. Let that dog be a dog." Johnny said and headed for the Pride of the Point lounge. Darlene, approaching fifty, no longer felt carefree and joyous. She walked Sugar on the deserted beach. Red, the big wolfdog, stalked them.

Darlene drove to Panacea for coffee at Pete's Saltaire. Johnny's Blazer was parked at Barfield's Oyster Bar. Dar- lene thought she might call her house "What's the Point?"

Returning home, Darlene found the sliding glass door open. Had Johnny set Sugar free to run as fast as his little pug legs would carry him? She climbed her tower, calling. "Come back, little Sugar, come back." Darlene knew the cottage should be "After the Point." What was there After Johnny. After Sugar? 

She could hear Sugar's little yip mixed with the other dogs' barks, the wolfdog's low growls, but from her high point Darlene saw only pine trees, ocean, and red hibiscus.

Darlene and Johnny accidentally (by mistake) ran over their Chinese pug, Sugar, on New Year's Eve. The dog survived (lived through it), but Darlene took it as a sign (symbol or message) to stop drinking, and she did. Johnny said he’d try to drink less.

Looking for a fresh start (new beginning), they moved to an old gray cottage (small house) with a tall, sixty-foot tower (tall structure) by the ocean at Alligator Point. Darlene wanted to name the house "Beside the Point," but Johnny said, "That's a dumb (silly or not smart) name."

Every morning, the dogs on their street—Sam, Gumbo, and Red the wolfdog—rode in the back of trucks to work. Sugar stayed home.

“Corona and lime, party time. Let that dog be a dog,” Johnny said as he left for the Pride of the Point lounge (small bar or club). Darlene, almost fifty, didn’t feel carefree (without worries) anymore. She walked Sugar on the empty beach, but Red, the wolfdog, followed them closely (nearby).

Later, Darlene drove to Panacea for coffee at Pete's Saltaire. She saw Johnny’s car parked at Barfield's Oyster Bar. She thought about calling their house “What’s the Point?”

When she got back home, the sliding (moving sideways) glass door was open. Did Johnny let Sugar out to run? She climbed up the tower, calling, "Come back, little Sugar, come back."

From up high, Darlene thought the house should be named “After the Point.” What would life be like after Johnny? After Sugar?

She could hear Sugar’s little bark (short dog sound) mixed with other dogs and Red’s low growl (deep, rough sound). But from the tower, all she could see were pine trees, the ocean, and red hibiscus (tropical flower) flowers.