“But how can I experience anything if I don’t write it down?” The ground shifts and I struggle to keep hold of this conversation. My blood races around my body, and I jiggle my knee. “How can I remember anything if I don’t write it down?” I rub my hands across my thighs, try to make the aggravation I feel go away.

Sefina sits back in her chair, looks unsure of herself. “I mean, sometimes I wonder if you’d get to enjoy life more if you could just experience it and let the people who love you help you to remember it. Not all the time, of course, just some of the time.”

I hold up my notebook. “But this is my memory, Sefina. I can trust it.”

Sefina doesn’t say anything at first, just looks at me. Then she leans forward. “That’s my point. Maybe you could trust people too.” Her smile touches her eyes. “Like me.”

“You?”

She spreads her arms. “All of us.” She frowns. “Well, maybe not Karen, because that woman is just plain mean, and certainly not Mr. Needs-to-Keep-His-Hands-to-Himself Joe.”

My body tenses at the implication that I need help to remember, but Sefina’s joke about Karen and Joe brings a smile to my face. Karen moved in next to Sefina when her girls were little. She shares one wall of Sefina’s apartment and goes to great lengths to complain to the homeowners’ board about Sefina, her girls, TV levels, cooking smells, anything and everything. One time she even complained because Sefina had cooked something that smelled delicious and didn’t offer any to Karen. And Joe has been interested in Sefina since she first moved here, and she’s right: he’s just a pervert, plain and simple.

Sefina continues, “But you’ve got me and Harriet and Ruth and . . .” Her head tilts to the side. “Aren’t you going to write this down?”

Suddenly, I am laughing. “You just told me to stop writing everything down!”

Sefina is laughing now too. “Oh, crap; right. Okay, just write this down: ‘Sefina wants you to stop writing so much and start experiencing.’”

I do because Sefina is my friend, and I know she means well, even if the idea turns my breathing shallow.

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER NINE

Tuesday, October 2

Today I volunteer in Kiko’s classroom. It’s on my calendar. Kiko taught third and fourth grade when I was a student here. She is generous, stern when she needs to be, loving to every kid, even the annoying ones like I was, and she gives hugs that make the saddest kid feel important and safe. I help during quiet activity time, when the kids can choose from drawing pictures with the nice art markers, writing stories, doing puzzles, or reading to Ms. Claire. It’s in my notes, and it’s something I do twice a week. I love it, I’m sure.