Thomas Wadlington's farming tools

Thomas Wadlington's farming tools

He is old, perhaps in his seventies, somewhat taller than me and round-faced, with blue eyes; stubbled. His hat is a discolored dirty grey. Her grandmother speaks to him, and April later tells me it is clear they know each other from before. I want you to meet my special grandchild. He shakes her hand and says hi, giving his name as Thomas Wadlington, and tells her she is the first woman from another country to have visited him here. The house belongs to his sister, though, and that he'll be leaving this world soon, if you know what I mean. April is certain he knows he has passed away, and that he is referring to some other place beyond this. She feels the construction all around is more like a collective habit of mind, which all visitors are free to partake of, maybe chosen to remind them of their most satisfying moments on earth. Thomas seems to take pleasure in working the land and staying in this house. She reminds me again that her body is different from that of her grandmother and Thomas because her hands are warm, whereas their touch is cold, like brushing against cold cotton buds. She says his form is somewhat transparent, although the appearance of solidity can vary. Her grandmother is very beautiful today, wearing her usual long-sleeved, full-length white dress, and the familiar garland; more beautiful than Miss Universe, and all the competitors in the beauty pageants she loves to watch on YouTube. She still doesn't go inside the house, but thinks someone else is staying here with him. Thomas tells her the house was rebuilt a couple of times in the physical world, after his lifetime, before fire finally destroyed it. Then, the sensation of her stomach growling causes her to rouse to the waking physical world.