It’s the forgetful twitch that’s the worst. Oh I’ll text Susie if . . . Oh I wonder if Susie wants tickets to . . . What did Susie say about that, again? I’ll just . . . Each time, the whiplash of remembering, like the spike of nausea you get coming to a very sudden halt aboard a moving object. Then the abyss of “no Susie ever again” opens up beyond it. It doesn’t change, this being gone. Who knew that the most obvious thing about it is the hardest part?
