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March 5, 2011
From 3/4

"Hi, Bubby," I say, careful to neither whisper as if trying not to wake the dead nor shout as if confronted with a deaf foreigner. I wonder if she can sense my false cheerfulness.

She says nothing. Is she waving? Or is that just a tic?

The way she doesn't recognize me is not the same as the way I don't recognize her.

I do recognize the pink-polished nails, though. I'm happy to see someone has done it for her, and leave the polish I bought especially for her in my purse for another time.

Which never comes.