With a broken-down oven, in a hotel kitchen, on an uninhabited island
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Ron Jones is a writer and teacher who lives in San Francisco, California, where he’s physical education director at San Francisco’s Recreation Center for the Handicapped. His previous stories in The Sun include “There Is No School on the Sixth Floor” [Issue 45] and “We Killed Them” [Issue 59].
The dentist froze. Then turned toward Ray, a soft smile on his face. His eyes dancing, he put his hands together as if in prayer and responded. “I know, I had this vision. Looking at you on the swing I saw Jesus, the face of Jesus crying.”
Grandma was a person of the Middle Kingdom. The center of civilized life. With one hand she propped up a star-gazer, and with the other she reached down to the bowels of life to offer a hand to the lost and bewildered.
The man in the silk swimsuit stood on the edge of the diving board — now motionless. An unusual silence weighed in the air. Everyone turned to look at this figure balanced on the end of the board. A collective gasp pulled the air from the board as the old man bent his legs and in slow motion sprang into the air.
We are in a sea of color. Three thousand athletes from all over California are assembled at Drake Field on the UCLA campus for the opening ceremony of the Special Olympics. Jimmy is the shortest player on our team, so I hold his hand as waves of athletic teams move about us. Joey holds my other hand. Michael, Eddie and Audie walk ahead of us, arm in arm, like the Three Musketeers. Pride and friendship are on parade.
Georgia showed me the result of Danny’s labor. He was distributing his version of the assignment. It read, “Grab Danny and give him a kiss.” Mary reacted by walking straight at Danny. She didn’t speak or hesitate. She kissed him gently. Danny had met the real world and found a way to touch it without being hit in the face.