Six seconds
"Yeah, I mean, the gas mileage is really great." David stood by his car with his father. "Real great car." He spoke in the same tone he used with the guy who had just jumped his battery for him. His father smiled.
Hands still in his pockets, David turned to look at the door handle, as if he was making sure it was still there. He turned back around to face his father, who was still holding David's suitcase in his hand, then gave his shoes a glance. His mother had passed two years ago, and since then, he had committed himself to flying into town to see his father more often. They had spent the weekend catching a couple of movies, going to a ball game, and engaging each other in the longest continuous string of small talk either had ever witnessed. Such a strange transformation. When David was a kid, his father was a hundred feet tall. The man who taught him how to shave, wear a necktie, and replace a radiator was now just some guy. Maybe the guy behind him in line at the post office, or the security guard he small-talked with at the parking garage every morning as he waited for the gate to raise. "Well, Dave, it got you here in one piece, huh?"
"Yeah, it...uh. I love you, Dad."
David didn't bother trying to control himself. They were the same height now, but David still buried his face in his father's chest. The man dropped the suitcase and held his son.