the sound of a smile

We talked on the phone today.

Discussed how mom passed her comp exams. How excited she is. 

We discussed their trip to Newfoundland. The trip they have discussed for years. Then will rent a car--a pick-up, he was proud to say. They will see a marina. They will have the vacation for his birthday, for their 35 wedding anniversary. It will be on an island, my mother said. Just like their first honeymoon. But this time, it will be free of tourists. I could hear her smile through the phone.

He talked about rock climbing, reflecting back to a conversation we had last week. He had given me the fatherly silence allowing me to ponder the sanity of some of my recent decisions. 

I had a rope, I told him.

Good, he said. Because when I was in high school I didn't. 

How high up were you? 

Only 50 feet, he said. 

I told him that was a dumb decision. 

Who taught you to rock climb? 

I learned it in a book, he said. 

And chuckled. He learned everything from a book. 

Why didn't your dad belay you? 

Because he was fishing. He wasn't going to stop fishing so I could climb some stupid rocks. 

I never met my grandfather. But I did know that you never disturbed the man while he was fly-fishing.

Dad reminded me about the time we went fishing in the Rockies, the same place he fished with his father. That was also where he apparently climbed the rocks. 

Your mom said that there is a climbing wall in Eugene. 

Yes, I said. 

I think I want to try it out when I am in Eugene. 

Really?

Yeah, why not? he said.

He paused. 

I could hear him smiling.