This morning the UPS guy came in with boxes and put them at the back as he does. For three years we’ve met this way, danced this dance. He weezes on hot days or underneath a heavy box. I offer water and he drinks it. He stands well in a lanky body and I keep to myself. We thank each other and that’s the whole deal. But today, he put the boxes down and spoke up. He said, ‘so you’ve got Geronimo and Sitting Bull?’ I’m shocked but stay cool. ‘Yeah, uh, yeah that’s right, Geronimo on the end there and, and the third one’s Chief Joseph Seattle.’ Then he says, ‘Yeah I just finished a book, brutal. About the Comanches. Really cuts through. Aaaaaah…Empire of the Summer Moon. And there’s another one you’ll love, The Son.’ Me with pen and pad, full attention, ‘Sun or Son?’ ‘Yeah, the Son.’ I still don’t know which one he means but don’t care. Sweat on his brow defies the snow. And he’s talking to me about books. Shop phone rings and I take it. UPS guy keeps talking, ‘The Son’s brilliant, violent, but great. A boy held captive by Comanches, saved from being white.’ I finish the call and look up. He’s in the door, half in / half out. ‘Myer, Phillip Myer. The Son.’ And poof.