For the first time in her life, the girl isn’t remembering. She’s not remembering what she is. She’s not remembering who she is. She’s lost. She’s standing there, lost, staring at lines on a street sign. And that’s when she hears it.
The sound is distant at first, but grows louder.
The rickety wheels of a grocery cart on asphalt, a familiar rough rattle.
She’s heard the cart over and over this last year. Soon, she knows, a woman with a familiar face will wheel her way around a blind corner. Maybe there will be a doll propped up in the child’s seat of woman’s cart – one with hair as wild as a little girl she once knew. And in the woman’s cart, maybe there’ll be photographs, little keepsakes, half-remembered from a lifetime ago, from childhood.
She’ll see the cart, and in it, she’ll
