-
B. a tall man at a piano
-
A. third person
Jeremiah was not an old man. Anyway, he wasn’t old compared to the old man he sat across from, on the old man's couch, in the old man's living room that smelled like eggs and mildew. Both men, old and not-quite-so-old, sipped lemonade. The old man was named Paul. Paul looked like he was going to fall asleep. He nodded forward, his head tilted over. Jeremiah slapped him on the arm.
“I'm not asleep!”
Jeremiah raised an eyebrow. “You were going to fall asleep.”
“I'm not going to fall asleep!”
Jeremiah sighed. On the coffee table in front of them was Jeremiah's laptop. On the laptop was the photograph Jeremiah had placed on the table in the IHOP: a tall, thin man at a piano, with a gleaming ring on his finger and a smirk on his face as if he were keeping a secret. Jeremiah turned the laptop toward Paul.
“Do you recognize this man?” Jeremiah asked.
Paul had fallen asleep.
Jeremiah repeated the question.
“I'm not asleep!”
“Paul. Please.”
“I'm not asleep. I just don't want to look. No, no, I don't think I'll look. No, thank you.”
This had Jeremiah confused. He raised an eyebrow. “Why not?” he asked Paul.
Paul took a deep breath. Then he began slowly to speak. He chose his words with care. “When you're my age,” he said, “you know what you can trust, and you know what you can't trust. I know I can trust my feelings.”
He looked up at Jeremiah and continued, “My gut feelings, you understand? And I know I can't trust some stranger who shows up at my door, unannounced, and asks me questions about things that happened sixty years ago. About things that maybe didn't even happen sixty years ago! Who knows! I don't know! You remember sixty years ago? Of course not, you weren't even born! Weren't even a single cell. And yet you have the nerve—” Paul began to shake but managed to regain control. “The nerve. To enter my house. And ask me—me of all people!—about the one man whose name I never want to hear again. No—I'll say it one more time. Just so you'll be satisfied. Just for your pleasure. One more time: Sweet Lou. That's it. That's the last you'll hear from me! No more!”
Paul sprung from the couch with such force he might have been sixty years younger. He was out of the room, muttering to himself and waving his hands. Jeremiah sat back down on the couch, with his socks in the puddle of lemonade.
He leaned forward and grabbed the laptop, and he placed it on his lap. He stared at Sweet Lou, the Sweet Lou who sixty years ago disappeared in a cloud of mystery. Sweet Lou's smile—what did it mean? What did Sweet Lou know that the rest of us would never know?
Jeremiah reached into his traveling bag and took out a notepad of yellow lined paper with a list of names. He crossed Paul's name off the list. This trip had cost him much time and much money. He was beginning to doubt he would ever uncover the story of Sweet Lou. Sadness crept over him.
Jeremiah sat in the room that smelled like eggs and mildew, under a ceiling fan that creaked in circles and hardly moved the air at all. He stared at the photograph, at Sweet Lou. A single tear fell down his cheek.
1.
What does the photograph on Jeremiah's laptop show?
A.a man drinking lemonade
B.a tall man at a piano
C.a man eating at a restaurant
D.an old man sitting on a couch
2.
What point of view is this story told from?
A.third person
B.first person
C.second person
1 answer