Maybe it seems exaggerated to spend so much time going back over such a small thing, just as it’s exaggerated to think that such a young boy can really make a decision that will determine his life. It’s exaggerated to talk about honesty, when I got myself into plenty of problems as a teenager, particularly after my father got out of jail. But all I can do is hold on to all those exaggerations, and believe in them. Believe, like my cousin Javiera, that every detail means something. All I can do is to try to fit—or force—each piece into place, so everything achieves its meaning. Maybe I’m just an overly concrete person, one who can’t manage in the world without possessing a few key certainties.

During the years that came later, I faced problems much more dramatic than the ones I experienced at ten years old. But staying with my mother, taking care of her as best I could, became a kind of consolation. Just as it was a consolation to go on reading and to convince myself that, when the moment came, I would be as prepared as possible to face the circumstances.

Lucky Me

Lucky Me

When Denise dropped the mirror and it hit the floor, the upstairs neighbor stopped her moaning. The glass cracked a little at the edge and the noise was minimal, almost imperceptible, one more among the many little explosions so routine in an ordinary apartment building like this one. But the neighbor knew exactly where the sound was coming from and she stopped moaning, though she didn’t stop moving. It was a mental distraction, not a physical one.