My mother made that dress. She’s somewhere in its unsettling pattern.

Her eyes were trained to see the missing parts of the world.

She looked like some damn fool angel that didn't even know the name of God.

They lived with us. Maybe there were twenty or more. At one time I counted 28.

So began a kind of magic in Dementialand that took place most nights after the day’s sun went down.

Violet believed that Jewish people made good doctors and lawyers, a thought that came to the front of her head suggesting she might need one.

Violet screamed into her pillow so loudly she scared herself. Her head hurt. It was as if all her memories were trying to kick their way out. They were finished and wanted to leave.

There were thousands of secrets hidden in her purse, secrets and memories that took her elsewhere. She held onto them tightly and kept them to herself. Even God did not know of them.

Violet wasn't sure what she was saying. Words fell out of her mouth with no mind and no malice.