The Morning After My Son’s Funeral, an Airport Worker Called and Said, “Your Son Checked In”

problem?”

“The examiner’s report lists David’s height as five foot nine.”

I sat very still.

My son was six foot two. He had been six foot two since he was seventeen years old, and I had watched him duck through the doorway of my kitchen ten thousand times.

“Somebody sat for that exam,” Priya said, “and it wasn’t your son.”

I said, “Curtis.”

“I don’t know continue reading …