What does the crocodile say?
Tegan, One of my earliest memories is of you suffering from an earache. It's more like a photograph in my mind—our living room in Marlborough Park, with its brown carpeting and couches, dimly lit. You were on Dad's lap, crying, and so was he. Whether he truly cried alongside you, I cannot be certain. But does the accuracy of his recollection matter in this instance? Helplessness best describes the feeling. There's a sense of stillness, as if we were waiting for a bus. Perhaps we were indeed waiting—for medicine to take effect or for your crying (and his) to subside. Questions arise: Where was Mom? Was it truly you on Dad's lap? Like many childhood memories, I ponder if reality has been distorted. Sometimes, a reliable narrator (Mom) reveals that it wasn't as I remembered. Similarly, regarding your nightmares, I recall experiencing them when, in fact, it was you who often woke in the night, crying out in terror while I observed from the doorway as our parents comforted you back to sleep.