The Round House

by Louise Erdrich

When overcome with laughter, they lost all dignity, however, and choked, snorted, burped, wheezed, even farted, which made them ever more hysterical.

I stood there in the shadowed doorway thinking with my tears. Yes, tears can be thoughts, why not?

I’ve read that certain memories put down in agitation at a vulnerable age do not extinguish with time, but engrave ever deeper as they return and return.

We are never so poor that we cannot bless another human, are we?

Now that I knew fear, I also knew it was not permanent. As powerful as it was, its grip on me would loosen. It would pass.