By Scott William Carter
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He would not give the boy false hope. But how could he explain what the word oblivion meant? Walnut paneling decorated the far wall, and the kid led them to a double door that was wide open. In the dark, circular theater within, Jack saw rows of empty, felt-backed chairs. The kid stopped at the door. "I'd like to let you stay awhile," he said. "But we're supposed to be closed. " Jack smiled. "We won't stay long," he said. The kid nodded. " Jack led Travis down the carpeted isle, taking a pair of seats somewhere in the middle.
Jack looked at the clerk, whose bland expression had not changed. "We drove over four hours to get here. " "I'm sorry, sir," the clerk said. "The equipment is broken. " Jack felt his anger rise at the nonchalance in the clerk's tone, but he suppressed it. There was no time for anger these days. He had long since proven that anger was only a hindrance to making their way down the list. They had seen the cobalt blue waters of Crater Lake. They had flown a box-kite on the Oregon coast. They had done so much in the last few weeks, but there was still much to do.
Oh . . well, it's not working. Like I said--" "My son is blind now," Jack said. " Jack saw the question forming on the kid's lips: Then why? But the kid didn't ask. He just nodded and pointed to the glass doors next to the booth. Jack went back to the bench. " Travis asked. "Yes," Jack said. " The clerk rattled open the deadbolt and opened the glass doors. Jack took his son's hand and led him inside. The entry room had a high ceiling, and the room was nearly as cool as outside. "Sorry about the temp," the clerk said, locking the doors behind them.