“Because I dropped some stupid plate. It wasn’t my fault. It was slippery. Dad told me to go outside and play in the traffic.”
“He did not.”
“He did so.”
“He was kidding,” I say, laughing at her ingenuity.
“So what. Is that a thing to tell your baby daughter!”
“Oh, brother.”
I remind her that I have to take the bus and won’t be arriving instantly. After I get dressed, I walk down the hill to Winthrop Street to catch the bus to Medford Square, where there’s no one around. While waiting for the bus to Winchester, I get up on the back of a bench and traverse it a few times, arms outstretched, one foot in front of the other. My mind works on making my legs move and my body balance. Self-analysis is perilous under these circumstances.
The bus driver blows his horn at me just before the b
