I’m reading through the suitcase of memories – well, not ‘through’, I stop and stare into space and rootle around for more of something. There are some letters from a girl with whom I had a brief encounter. My whole pre-suitcase memory of that was: I Did her Wrong, she wrote angrily to me, I didn’t reply, I was a Rat with Women.
The reality conveyed by the letters is completely different. Seems I did write, and here’s part of the response:
Believe me, I’ve no regrets, only a great deal of happiness to look back on.
There are more letters. Seems also that I was exploring the possibility of leaving for her city – permanently? – and although she was now involved with someone else, she was busy organising a job and somewhere to stay. Kindness and care, when all I had remembered was rage and betrayal. Continue reading »