What could I remember? I thought for an eternity until a memory came. I must have been three years old, in a white-walled room with bright lights, like a doctor’s office. “Hold still,” my mother said. My mother was telling me it wouldn’t hurt if I just held still. I didn’t know what they were doing to me, but I remembered Otto—I remembered him now—wearing the same silver glasses, watching. He didn’t scare me but my mother did. I was afraid of her.
