I found two new roads, she says, and I got up to Bangor this last time in just sixty-seven miles. Now I remembered what she said before and I says, Thats not possible, missus. Beggin your pardon, but I did the mileage on the map myself, and seventy-nine is tops ... as the crow flies. She laughed, and she looked prettier than ever. Like a goddess in the sun, on one of those hills in a story where theres nothing but green grass and fountains and no thistles to tear at a mans forearms at all. Thats right, she says, and you cant run a mile in under four minutes. Its been mathematically proved. It aint the same, I says. Its the same, she says. Fold the map and see how many miles it is then, Homer. It can be a little less than a straight line if you fold it a little, or it can be a lot less if you fold it a lot. I remembered our ride then, the way you remember a dream, and I says, Missus, you can fold a map on paper but you cant fold land. Or at least you shouldnt ought to try. You want to leave it alone. No sir, she says. Its the one thing right now in my life that I wont leave alone, because its there, and its mine. - Mrs. Todds Shortcut by Stephen King
Posted on: Sun, 23 Mar 2014 06:02:17 +0000
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