shared a bedroom with Margit. She didn’t like to play the way I did, so I spent most of my time alone beneath the house, constructing a miniature world for my toys. Marg once stuffed a pillow under her shirt, declared she was with child, and said a bad guy was after us. She told me we needed to hide to protect her unborn baby. I remember crawling under her bed while she whispered to me to be quiet. She said, “Try not to breathe.” I didn’t like playing with her. I didn’t want to hold my breath, feel scared, or pretend Margit was grown enough to be a mother. I preferred to imagine we had magic
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If only
