Sarah Cole

My memory of William Ruddick is that he had hands that seemed like they were made of rocks. He always smelled of motor oil, leather, and dry dirt. He used to let me wear his work gloves, which were so big that they nearly reached my elbows when I had them on. We'd share a Diet Coke and some peanuts in the late afternoons, as we sat in his chair together, listening to my great grandmother--his wife--hum "Red is the Rose." I knew him all of two years of my early life, but I'll miss him always.