Sometimes I think youth is wasted on the young, and sometimes I can see they are cursed with it. I am doing everything I can to keep from bearing down on this story too hard, because it is the kind of story that seeps in like rainwater, and gets caught up in all the detritus of personal history. It's confusing at first, too many narrators, until you realize there is just the one and the stories told around her. This works, I promise, and when it starts to come together, it turns another 90 degrees, and comes together in a completely different way. It's the convergence of a person's history into self. It's going to hurt, and it's an absolution.