“If this weren’t happening to me,” Kendra continues, “if I was just hearing this from some regular person, I would probably think they were crazy.” Somehow this makes me feel for her as much as anything—that she has the grace to imagine her way into the minds of people who won’t imagine hers. “It’s not just happening to you,” I say finally. She thinks I mean one thing by that word—happening—and I think I mean another: not necessarily fibers under skin but rather some phenomenon of mind or body, maybe both in collusion, expressing god-knows-what into this lonely world.
