What was the name of the nun who taught my sixth grade class? Oh, that’s right, I can’t retrieve that information from you anymore.

You hated your sister, really hated her. Would go on forever about how selfish and greedy she was. Was I?

Oh, and didn’t I used to have a big, yellow, inflatable whale when I was three. That’s right, you can’t tell me.

You also hated people who wasted money. They were fools who merited scorn. Gee, I suppose I was one of them.

I saw you…mommy. All your many wrinkles were gone. Someone said the muscles contract. I thought your eyes would flutter open any minute. Your skin looked alive. I didn’t want to touch you. Instead I pulled the blanket aside, and saw a bruise from the morphine drip on your thin, papery arm. The nurse took off your watch and handed it to me.

I knew you didn’t like me much, and I felt the same toward you. But then when I took the watch, there were the unexpected great gulping sounds overtaking my body. And I realized that my heart was broken.

Sifting, sifting, The sand slipping through my slender fingers.  I am eight, and I sit on the ground in the alley just behind our backyard chain link fence. Dirt gets underneath my nails, and my sun-browned legs are dust coated. I am looking for treasure.. shimmering mica flakes, and especially the raw, red, multi-edged sand rubies, so tiny amidst the grit. I swirl the dirt in my hand and pluck them out into a glass jar. I squint my eyes and hold them up to the Arizona sun. So red, so precious. Mine.

Forty-odd years later, there is only dirt in the alley.