So in a way I did understand because I do know what’s it like and I too can remember the excitement and forbearance of worry strife and feeling small to something so much bigger than myself in those first things a first kiss and what you see hear feel when something ends and something begins like that like how a child feels on their first day of school…

And that’s how she mentioned it how she broached the subject of the day her brother Aaron and Dulcinea kissed for the first time in the tree house her daddy built David Threnody and his wife Bethany present because it was a late afternoon in late summer and Dulcinea herself a year older than Aaron was off the next day off to kindergarten.  This no remonstrance no act of repentance on what was done or not done but how my grandma Gabby a first grader that year herself remembers a late afternoon in late summer that light in August as only a woman with memories can paint it maybe even casting off the colored remark not knowing how I would write it down in my own worry and strife to somehow wrestle the feeling of getting with it getting with the times my time and her time one matchless time where when at noon you know the morning’s over and how afternoon leads to evening and how in the summer dusk the bugs come out the mosquitoes looking for first blood the katydids singing in the bushes as the darkness pervades giving you that sense that you need to get with it get with the times how all your worry strife are but a small economical speck to a mechanism not quite mechanic as you sense and smell in that summer air an inexorable process summoning what must be and is the coming of the fall as leaves on a tree know it as the leaves on that tree house Gabby’s daddy built knew it when the school bells ring and the children come together opening their books cracking them open the sound of it that first time to read their first lessons.  Books a present that can be opened and opened again but when closed the seal of it you know is broken the story where it was left off not quite new again but like an old friend waiting for you at the corner like a schoolmate waiting for you with you for the bus calling you to where it wants to take you and you at a loss for words in those first words you learn as a new reader and Dulcinea didn’t know how to read yet nor Aaron or Gabby or Benjamin Threnody for that matter but they did know how to tease and Ben teased her sister to kiss him to kiss Aaron in their new makeshift home of the tree house the parents watching and smiling to see their children at play knowing that school awaited them the next morning with all its cherishment of learning as they were learning too in teasing each other playing the roles of family in their new house Aaron and Dulcinea the husband and wife and Ben and Gabby though the older ones acting as their children and I don’t know if it was her mentioning it that light in August and what it alludes to in me as to my own recollections of starting school but sitting there in that trailer listening to the sing song quality of voice remembering being at play as a child made me also think of my first book what I first read the book I first opened and read on my own with no predilection of a teacher The Call of the Wild by Jack London and how I know now as a young man the Martin Eden prophecy he made about how the words were already written long before they were read and recognized by a reader and I somehow knew even as a child before this how maybe even Gabby and Aaron and Dulcinea and Ben knew in their play-acting as children in their last day of summer freedom before starting school how your imagination destroys what caused it to imagine how it is dulcified into some reality like a colored remark on the light in August to be not the end not the end of some world our world getting with it getting with the times but an evolution a process by which what made you imagine is no longer imaginary thus losing its power to inspire and I remember now even as I remember my grandma’s voice telling me this story how when I read the back cover on the author’s life Jack London’s life before I even finished the first chapter of The Call of the Wild the fact that he committed suicide a celebrated writer not even lost in obscurity but a success monetarily at least even if it was later after the words were long written and how when I read he committed suicide I got with it—my own time—and I sensed a commingling a communion of sorts of my spirit in recognition an omen if you will and I felt it the fear of seeing the future but being unable to change it.  And this—to me—is what I imagined as I listened to my grandmother talk talk of a light in August and a kiss before kindergarten how it alluded to coming a far piece but there is so much farther to go and how that kiss Dulcinea received was merely a foreshadowing of the rape that would happen the temptation of rape that would happen in 1966 their school days just about over some twenty-two years before I was born and the burning of it.  The burning of David Threnody’s journal by his own son of that time period the period of 1955 to 1966 and how I had only my grandma’s voice as recollection of it the only book to be opened the seal broken and that period that story of Dulcinea and Ben Threnody and how Ben sought revenge against my grandma Gabby’s brother Aaron and how he rose up against his father her voice and my voice the only imagination of it.  The only voice telling of it…

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