I sometimes remember, out of the blue, instances from decades ago, from when I was five, playing ball with another tenant's kid on the roof, who remarked that I was playing very well for someone my age, or from when I was six and wanted a cool pencil box like one of my classmate's that opened on the press of a button and had a mini-piano of sorts affixed to its lid, but I never really was able to get one for myself, or from when I was seven, and after much tenacity got my parents to buy me an umbrella that you wore like a headband rather than carry like a stick and which really caught the fancy of the girls in my class, as I knew it would. And when I'm thrown back, without asking, without demand, into these ephemeral episodes, I am five, or six, or seven again, and it is immense. And sometimes, I'm thrown back to being 23, and that is euphoria, but I can't talk about it here.
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