I'm standing in the bathroom, brushing my teeth with that sort of blank, diffuse inattention one has for an action one has performed almost every night for 43 years. There's a slightly sore spot on my gums, back on the top inside right side, near the space where my wisdom teeth used to be, and I brush it a little more thoroughly, as if to punish it for having the nerve to pain me.
It strikes me, all of a sudden, as each action triggers a net of memories, all them connected one to the other, that I am in this moment as young as I will ever be again.
I lean down and spit blood into the sink.
No comments:
Post a Comment