I’m taking Silvia to gymnastics. She scrambles into her car seat and demands a story.
“About what?” I have in mind the continuing saga of the Tudor family: warring cousins, blood, crowns, The Tower. Far away fantasy.
But she wants something else. “Tell me about how you lost somebody!”
“I lost my father.”
“No, not lost by being dead. I mean, you loved somebody, but they didn’t love you enough and left you and you lost.” Silvia is a kind and loving child, but also wild for stores. She rubs her hands with glee. “That would be interesting. Tell me how you lost.”
So here we are at the threshold of literature: “Tell me how you lost.” I tell her my story, my first broken heart. She is satisfied. “Now you can talk about the Tudors.”
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