I don’t in the least know if she meant to be funny—but then, I realize more and more how vague she has become for me. Even when I remember things she said, I can’t recall the sound of her voice. And though I can still see the shape of her that day huddled on the steps, her back view when we were in the car, her brown tweed suit and squashy felt hat, I can’t visualize her face at all. When I try to, I just see the photograph I have of her.
