Looking back at the notes Ijotted down about my dreams, I searched for clues. Statues. Mother.Shadows. Mouse. I remembered that the mouse had whispere... something inmy ear, but I couldn't quite remember what, and the harder I tried torecall, the farther away the dream became.My mother told me once that memories "are like a feral animal. Theharder you try to force one into submission, the harder it pulls away." But," she told me, "if you act like you aren't interested, and justrelax, very often. She is visibly handicapped, she can’t really get out by herself yet, and she’s not sure her girl parts work that well yet.’ ‘What do you mean by that, honey?’ I asked. ‘When her legs were blown off, there was naturally some collateral damage to nearby structures, as I’m sure you can imagine. She’s expressed some frustration with urination and such, but since I can’t see what’s going on, I can’t really comment, you know? I do know that she feels less than desirable, and that makes me sad. Since. More

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