Two guys driving in a car.

–Why don’t you have a job?

–I’m waiting on the Lord.

–You could work at Albertson’s or Home Depot–you’d be great at working at Home–

–No, I’m waiting on the Lord to give me my Ministry.

–Mom hates her job; she wants to stop.

–No, She’s fine.

–Why don’t you drive a truck? You love driving.

–No, I can’t. They won’t let me.


–I asked some guys but, no, they don’t want me around.

–Just the one company or all of the companies that drive trucks?

–I don’t like cursing; I hand out tracts to them. If they don’t like it, well, their dealing with God.

–They don’t want you to drive trucks so mom’s staying in her job?

–God has given me my Sabbath Rest. I have to have faith and wait on him: he’s bringing my Ministry.

–Oh, god.

–Sometimes I seriously doubt that you are even a Christian.

–Oh, god times one million.

–Hold on: I have a tract here I want to give you…

Three years later. A guy unloads a clothes dryer while a bald woman sits reading nearby. Lots of dust in the air makes the guy sneeze.

–Hey mom!

–I’m reading!

–I can’t stop sneezing.

–Did you change the dryer lint thingy?

–Yeah, I did.

–There you go.

–But I can’t stop.

–I’m reading!

–I can’t stop sneezing.

–I’m reading!

–I think you’re giving me cancer.

–What are you talking about?

–I can’t stop sneezing!

–You don’t have breasts!

–But I’m sneezing.

–I’m reading!

–But mom, I’m serious: if you gave me cancer, I’d be very upset.

–Don’t say that–I used to say that to my coworkers. “If I don’t leave this job, I’ll get cancer.”

–Did you knock on wood afterward?

–Does it look like I knocked on wood?

–I tried to tell dad that you should stop–why didn’t you–

–When I stopped, finally, we went on the most wonderful drive of my life. We drove for days and days all around the country. There was a snow storm then, that winter. It was a little crazy, but it was so wonderful to break away and finally go… To drive and think. Leave all those horrible people, memories behind. The stress. We had to go to the south to cross the Rockies. Arizona. We were headed to Grandma’s in Idaho. We painted her whole house. We crossed the whole US and painted her house. She cried, she was so happy. We didn’t realize then that that was our time with her.

–I never liked how she tried to guilt me.

–Well, she’s dead now, so you won’t have to worry about it.


–On our way, we stopped on a mountain top. We went south through Arizona. We were so high up. thousands of feet and those mountains are just… these steep cliffs straight down for thousands of miles. How can there even be a road up there? We stopped. I was scared to get out to the car, but your dad was like, ‘Let’s get out and look up.’ I was like, ‘Not on your life.’ But we did stop and we got out. Have you ever looked up from the top of a desert mountain in the winter, miles from anyone? From city lights?

–I’ve never done that.

–Well, I did and I can tell you something.

–Tell me.

–I’ll tell you: you should do it.

–I want to, mom.

–It didn’t matter how I got there, just that I was there. And that’s what I think about: how beautiful that sky was that night.

There is a short pause.

–You just go forward. You just keep going forward, and now I have chemo so I just have to keep going forward, but it. The drugs are inside of you, in your brain and that’s what’s so hard because you’re under the water of the drug and, it is like being depressed and you just, you can’t… See anything. What you want to, or how you want to. But then it is okay, later.