Okay for Now

by Gary D. Schmidt

By then, it was almost 150 degrees in the kitchen, but when we looked around, everything was settled just the way she wanted it, and when I said, “I don’t think I’ve ever been in a room where you could fry eggs while holding them in your hand,” she went over to the sink, filled a glass full of cold water, turned, and—I’m not lying—threw the whole thing all over me.

With the cloud on top and the shimmering blue beneath, she looked like a rainstorm that could walk around all by itself.

I couldn’t keep myself from smiling. I couldn’t. Maybe this happens to you every day, but I think it was the first time I could hardly wait to show something that I’d done to someone who would care besides my mother.

He taught me that sometimes, art can make you forget everything else all around you.