Audiobook Demo
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British (England - East Anglia, Cambridge, Hertfordshire) North American (General)Transcript
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Claire Greenberg. First lieutenant Jimmy Cross carried letters from a girl named Martha, a junior at Mount Sebastian College in New Jersey. They were not love letters, but Lieutenant Cross was hoping so. He kept them folded in plastic at the bottom of his rucksack in the late afternoon, after a day's march, he would dig his foxhole, wash his hands under a canteen, unwrapped the letters, hold them with the tips of his fingers and spend the last hour of light pretending. When his mother became president, Alex Claremont Diaz was promptly cast as the American equivalent of a young, royal, handsome, charismatic genius. His image is pure millennial marketing gold for the White House. There's only one problem. Alex has beef with the actual Prince Henry across the pond. By now, you're probably wondering, what's the big deal? If she was so nice, why didn't English roses invite her over for a cup of tea? Listen, I already told you why. Because they were a little jealous. Well, maybe more than a little. Haven't you ever been green with envy or felt like you were about to explode if you didn't get what somebody else had? If you say no. Then you're a big, fat fear. But I'm going to tell your mother. No, Stop interrupting. May you see The English roses wanted to be friendly, and they knew Bina was lonely. But they couldn't bring themselves to be nice to her because everywhere they went this is what they heard. What a beauty she is. She shines like a star that Bina is something else. When Nicole and Amy and Charlotte and Grace heard people speak this way about Bina, they always felt like they were going to be sick. About 12 billion years ago, scientists think from a singular explosion. The universe was born in those first moments, intensely hot hydrogen and helium raced outward thinning, cooling and clumping into vast organized structures. Within a few billion years, countless Galaxies had emerged, each one containing hundreds of billions of stars constantly changing in cycles of birth, death and rebirth. Things came slow for him then if they ever came it all. And I guessed he was thinking of some joke to tell because he always had some joke to tell. Or he might tell me a story that would celebrate his adventurous and heroic life and I wondered, What does this remind him of? Does it remind him of the duck in the hardware store, the horse and the bar? The boy who was knee high to a grasshopper did it remind him of the dinosaur egg he found one day, then lost, or the country he once ruled for the better part of a week? This reminds me, he said of when I was a boy. I looked at this old man, my old man with his old white feet and this clear running stream thes moments among the very last in his life. And I thought of him suddenly and simply as a boy, a child. Ah, youth with his whole life ahead of him. Much as mine was ahead of me, I'd never done that before. And these images, the now and then of my father converged. And at that moment he turned into a weird creature, wild concurrently young and old, dying and a newborn. My father became a myth