Introduction
The last of the evening light filters through the screen door, turning the tan pattern of linoleum squares worn thin by wear at the threshold a rich gold. Fireflies glimmer over patterns in the dooryard, illuminating clumps of prairie grass, yard daisies, and common weeds.
There is remembering you do that proves you existed at all, mattered to someone, got something right—memories that, through favor, are welcomed into the story that is reminiscence. Other memories, of forfeits, troublesome losses, and unrequited risks, become secrets, embedded deeply in memory, lost to easy recall. These secrets, for the sake of the story, often must find their own way in, unbidden, through the screen door.
