RzNox

I see Michael Parker that first morning back. I think I’m imagining him. He has the same face, the same eyes, but the scruff of whiskers is gone from his cheeks and his untidy hair is neatly trimmed and combed. We make eye contact briefly, but then a group of people entering the church moves between us, and I can’t find him again. As the service begins I realize that this is the pew where I sat during the first Sunday in my memory. I remember it because the new wood of the arm gave me a splinter, and that afternoon during my fourth birthday party my father took away a plastic Brachiosaurus seconds after I unwrapped it. “There