If he had been unimpressed or even lukewarm, that might have given me the push I needed to go over to Gryphon, and to hell with Lil’s photography. Instead he said: your girlfriend’s a genius. When I got home, I threw the Gryphon man’s business card in the wastepaper basket.

53. Ninth Street, Brooklyn, 1960

This one feels flash-frozen: kids sitting on a mantelpiece that’s been yanked from some fireplace and left by the curb; two men carrying what looks like a steamer trunk across the street while a girl in a torn dress throws a ball at them like she means it. Any second, the men are going to start walking again, and the ball will finish its arc. Looking at this photograph makes me feel like I’ve stumbled into the middle of something unfolding. It makes me feel invisible.

The first rule was quiet. No talking, no singing. Funny noises were definitely not okay; camouflage wasn’t camouflage if it attracted attention. If I saw something, I had to keep it to myself. A red motorcycle, a man tap-dancing on the sidewalk, a dog with a missing leg. “Mommy?” “Shh, Mommy’s working.” Talking when I’m outside still feels like interrupting.

But there were advantages: my comprehensive education in city pigeon behaviors and plumage patterns; my ability to tell time by the sun’s reflection off a car; my discovery of Pippi Longstocking. Lillian always packed distractions—picture books, a plastic rabbit, a doll with hair and with eyes that closed—but these only got me halfway there or back. I remember bringing Pippi along because it was my regular bedtime book and bedtime wasn’t enough. At five, I had to limp through each chapter six or seven times before I understood it, but even when only half the words made sense, the story seemed like a friend. Pippi did whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted. She didn’t go anyplace she didn’t want to go. My first copy got rained on. The second was left at a playground in Gowanus. Eventually, my third copy had only half a front cover and was partly held together with bubble gum. Pippi followed me to Cleveland and then to Los Angeles. After that I guess I didn’t need her anymore, because by the time I left California, the book was gone for good.