briefly, but she seems to have had an idea of who i was. if not entirely, at the least, she knew she liked me.
her bed was full of crumbs. i was wearing shorts. they stuck to my knees.
when we left, it was like i'd kneeled on the uncleaned floor of a bakery.
an hour later, the crumb prints were still indentions in my skin.
we thought we woke her up-- debo and i-- because it took her a few minutes of blinking at us, like someone moving into sudden light. but then, after the manic display of good humor and chatter (a mode i only ever put into effect in assisted living facilities), she flashed me a conspiratorial look such that i could internally sigh: YES. i am in.
burvil is ok. burvil is looked after and cared for. burvil is safe.
but god, ya'll, is it ever sad that we are sometimes blessed with lives longer than our minds or bodies can bear.