Lincoln by Gore Vidal
8min @ LaGuardia Airport, November 2 2012
It is a hard name to live with. It is hard to be the man at fourteen. So much resting on such slight shoulders. He was waiting for his growth spurt. His father had been a tall man – the whole line of men on his paternal side were supposedly giants. But he was a David. Literally. David Lincoln aged fourteen, the sole male child of Arabelle and Grant Lincoln and the sworn protector of his four sisters and grandmother. For a giant, his father had been in short supply of boy sperm. He’d learned that in Health Science last year. His grandmother had lit candles to the virgin in every room when she heard of the blasphemy in his studies. he only tells her about his maths and science homework now. She doesn’t understand his chemistry text when she looks over his shoulder, she just knows it’s what he needs to know to become a proper doctor. Abuelita is the neighborhood witch and she has been teaching him all the healing secrets passed down through generations. She supports them all with the potions and lotions and tonics constantly brewing in the kitchen. The cupboards have more jars with twigs and leaves than the requisite boxes of cold cereal but she supports as best she can until David can.
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