For Many Shall Come in My Name...

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Dave Kiefer sat deeply slumped back into his sister’s soft, green and white flower-print sofa. The small living room in her mobile home was dimly-lit, the windows shadowed by the big trees all around it. The house was set off a gravel road in Missouri’s southern forest. All he could think about was his six-year-old son, Trippy.

“Davey?” Kathy Bender, his divorced sister, came into the front door and looked at him. “Did Laura call while I was out? Is there any word about… Trippy?”

Dave hardly heard her. His wife, Laura, was with Trippy now in the hospital over in Poplar Bluff. Trippy had fallen out of a tree last week and was in a coma with severe brain damage. The neurosurgeon had told Dave and Laura that even if he came out of the coma, he would never be a whole boy again.

“No.” He tugged his T-shirt down over his belly and started to take a drink to show her the beer can in his hand was empty. He let it drop to the floor, sat staring idly at the dark holovision.

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