In a few minutes the dinner bell will ring, and we’ll sit down to our evening meal, will answer the same prompts and repeat the same stories and wonderings. Everyone will talk to and around and over me, will avoid the Thing, will reward every normal thing that I do and bristle at every weird thing that I do. They don’t want any part of the new me. They want this new Yarrow, the one that they have to worry about, to go away.
