Chapter 16: Me Again
All the same, it is strange that I don’t remember myself in all these historical periods. I do remember facts and scenes and even that’s only because I’m still living in the same place, which sort of gathers my personality into a single whole. But I can’t identify with myself. That’s me there, in a brightly coloured frock with a narrow belt round a twitchy waist, gulping down a bottle of dry wine. I’m getting ready for what’s supposed to be one last date. He comes over. I’m not making much sense but I deliver the monologue I’ve memorized: “It’s over.” He winces and asks just the one question, “Don’t you love me anymore?” In this scenario, I should say, “No.” Tell a lie. My tongue won’t go in the right direction. It can’t make out the shape of the single consonant and
