Even as a child she wanted to lie still in places so close to human routines as to be invisible. Places that offered a vaguely alarming anonymity.

Pastor Himes called me toward the wiggly light of a pool set into a stage, and some invisible person pulled cords that opened curtains.

This was in the days before people would break a window to get a kid out of a hot car.

He couldn’t say what he wanted to say, so he decided to write it—but that didn’t work either because he had to make big spiraling motions with his arm before he could get the pen down to the letter he wanted to write.