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| always used to throw garbage onto a patio outside our window and the cats would eat the stuff and get sick there). I started to cry even thought I was quite sure he didn't remember me -- I've changed a lot since I was eight and besides, he's retarded. As I cried there in the courtyard I did something I didn't understand until later. I knelt down and scratched at the cement. I was trying, I saw later, to uncover my time, to do a minor archaeological dig into the cement archives in front of me. I hoped, I suppose, to find a fossilized piece of chewing gum with my toothmarks in it or at least the imprints of my childhood cries. But such things are too faint for me to find. So I came home instead and told you this story. Do you think we could visit a museum tomorrow? |
