his peace.
I gave her a passionate kiss. The crowd cheered. Firecrackers went off, and the dogs began to yelp and bark. I see the warm smiles the guests give my wife, but when they look at me their smiles looked pained. I was grateful they didn't interject when the minister asked, "is there anybody here that knows a reason why these two should not be joined?" They judge me for my religion, but I will not be shaken. I am a man of God, and I don't need to explain myself. I grab my wife's hand, and our new family piles into our silvery gray car.
I Am The Grass CCWQ #10:
The day came for the surgeon to go home. I sent a car to take him to the airport, but I couldn't bear to accompany him or see his face again. Saying goodbye to the surgeon wouldn't be as simple as joking that in my next life I will have thumbs, because the fact of the matter is that I won't. Yes, he had tried his best to give me thumbs, but it didn't work. I am in the worst pain of my life, second to what I endured in war, and I have no thumbs, or big toes.
The surgeon can get back on a plane, return to his country, and wait for another chance. What about me? Will I get another chance? Our lives move in cycles, repeating themselves endlessly like the four seasons. Planting. Weeding and waiting. Harvesting. Fallowness.
The final section rewritten from Dinh's point of view leaves me with a less optimistic theme than when the story was written from the surgeon's perspective. The fact that Dinh couldn't show up at the airport left an echo of bitterness and showed a loss of hope. A possible theme could be that there aren't always second chances.
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