Chapter 7“Please, bring the record player in here,” David said, in a weak voice.
I sprung up in my chair. Davie had been sleeping for five hours and I’d been trying to read one of his books on the history of the Russian Ballet. One difficult word at a time. I was on page three of five-hundred and fifty-seven. I wished I could read. Wished I’d been more cultivated. “You wanna play a record?” I asked, setting the book down on the floor.
He nodded his head, his eyes closing again.
I rushed off to the living room, and there unplugged the record player, carried it back to his room, moved stuff off his dresser, and hooked the player up. I went back to get a pile of records, without looking at the covers, and brought those with me. In his room, I sat with the pile on my lap. “Okay, uh, let’s s
