It's like this: I was waiting for her. Again. The frustration was killing me. I think I cried. Maybe I wailed. I felt lost, alone, abandoned.
This is all true.
In the summer of 1961, 2 or 3 months shy of my second birthday, I was with my family on vacation on Cape Cod.
Rain pouring outside the car
My daddy changing the tire
I am two and the gray Smith Corona typewriter case yawns empty in the middle of the floor inviting me like all small open things.
What I remember first--crying about a doll I left outside in the backyard--doesn't make that memory the best memory. It's not a memory I go back to and hold and stare at, thinking about time and
Hard white winter sun streamed through the bay window, washing the big high-ceilinged room with glaring light.
It was unseasonably hot.
That must have been the reason my grandmother walked d
Ice Cream and Water Fountains
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