Lana Smalls Grandpa [new] Today

Silas stops whittling. He looks at her for a long time. For the first time all summer, his eyes are wet. He doesn’t wipe them.

She doesn’t cry. She sets the bird on the table, next to the lantern. She picks up her pencil. Tomorrow, she will measure twice. She will cut once. She will build a boat. lana smalls grandpa

Her grandfather is teaching her to build a boat. Silas stops whittling

“Measure twice,” he says. “Cut once,” she finishes. He doesn’t wipe them

“Are you?”

And when she goes back to Philadelphia in two weeks, she will take the lantern with her. Not to light her dorm room—fire codes, after all. But to remind herself that some things are worth more than the speed of light.

“That’s the third thing,” he says.