"But I like hearing about you," she faux-complains with a laugh. "You've done so much more than me. What's to tell?"
Even so, she acquieses easily enough. It's only fair. "Alabama," she says. "Just a little town. My mama was a doctor too, actually." She smiles. Not the same kind, obviously, but, just so. "A pediatrician. She was my teacher, too. And my granddaddy taught me to explore." She has the urge to sit cross-legged, but that won't do on a stool, so after a moment she pushes her cup aside and hoists herself up onto the table itself, pulling her legs under her. Much better. Now she's taller than him.
"He was an apiarist," she says proudly. "And mama loved Emily Dickinson. You know, she wrote so many poems about bees? That's where my name comes from."
no subject
Even so, she acquieses easily enough. It's only fair. "Alabama," she says. "Just a little town. My mama was a doctor too, actually." She smiles. Not the same kind, obviously, but, just so. "A pediatrician. She was my teacher, too. And my granddaddy taught me to explore." She has the urge to sit cross-legged, but that won't do on a stool, so after a moment she pushes her cup aside and hoists herself up onto the table itself, pulling her legs under her. Much better. Now she's taller than him.
"He was an apiarist," she says proudly. "And mama loved Emily Dickinson. You know, she wrote so many poems about bees? That's where my name comes from."