Patriarch

My Granddad is the patriarch. A Godfather type aura surrounds him. He’s so dignified, so proper; he’s modern day nobility.

I’m the airport chauffeur. It was his turn this morning. So I woke up early and fought the morning traffic down to the south side of Atlanta.

I haven’t figured out how far off of normal I am yet. I communicate differently than others. I don’t have the standard inner filter that most are born with, so there’s nothing to keep me from talking about the most random things. On the other hand, I think I can make people feel a little awkward because I don’t mind silence. Everybody moves so fast; conversations can’t have silence. I like it a little bit. I like people that I can share that with.

So I’m on the way to the airport with the Godfather.

"How’s that nice young lady your brother was spending time with?"

"Actually," I had to decide very quickly how much of the information I should make known, "they aren’t really seeing each other anymore."

"Was that something she decided or he decided?"

"He did."

The buzz of his electric shaver snapped on once it was clear my answer would be brief, and I listened to it consuming stubble. It snapped off after ten seconds.

"It’s really starting to look like a nice day," he said.

I look as though I’m participating in the conversation but no words come out. Maybe some sound, but no words.

Snap. The buzzing consumes all the faint sounds outside of the car for another ten seconds. Snap.