Think of it as a house she told me at the beginning. To go there, I have to close my eyes. We build it week by week. I have to do this on my own. She cannot go with me. Some of the windows are lit, but most of the house is in darkness. There is a high fence to climb over, warning signs to ignore. Once inside, I feel my way blind along the corridors and try the handle of every door. It is not my father’s house but he is there with his anger set off again. I saw him once through glass but he could not touch me. Sometimes my brother comes around. I follow in the glow of all he knows. He carries a bag fat with memories. Was it your brother gave you these? Perhaps I should speak to him. The hour we keep is all we have together. I bring her what I have found, fixed in words on sheets of paper scattered over the table between us. What is memory and what is a dream we cannot know for sure. Be wary of dreams, she says. They don’t lie but they are not the truth. Remember, what is unreal cannot be undone. I nod my head to show I’ve understood.