I opened my eyes, and stared at the ceiling. The swirls in the plaster made shapes in the dark, if you squinted a little. I could make out waves, a bearded face. It reminded me of being small, trying to see my future in the whirls of white.
Then, my mother bustled in, pulling open the curtains and letting in a wash of bright light. I groaned, and buried my head in my pillows. She sighed, and pulled the pillow off my face. " You won' t feel any better if you just lie there wallowing. The guitar won't help you either!" she said, one hand on hip.
"I'm not wallowing! I'm following the crazy psychiatrist's instructions. The one you begged me to go to?" She sighed again and left. I revelled in my victory by rolling over to face the wall. Suddenly, something hit me like a wall. My fingers traced the carving I forgot I made. P.S I love you, forever and today. When did I write that? My head reeled. I searched my brain for the relevant memory. Nothing.
What's going on, Jack?