deleted name
(writing): The incineration of the history’s record should in no way be
mistaken for the eradication of the actual history itself...
Even in its asking
she is already aware of the question’s honest answer,
Mother: What about
you, are you keeping up with your diary?
ache1
before she became ache1 (wearily): I’ll do it at the weekend. It’s
too much if, after homework it’s
Mother: You should,
you really should keep it up to date, like every night. If you write it up at
the,
trying hard to make
this sound convincingly less for herself than her daughter
Mother: But don’t you think, don’t you look at her
sometimes and wonder what she’s thinking, she’s, she can be so...
circling for the correct word before landing upon it
Mother: ..inscrutable.
Father: You could always get her a little diary for
Christmas.
Mother (immediately reading him): That’s hardly the
most ethical
Father: Ethics? God, ethics yet? You’re hilarious.
Mother: By Saturday the things you remember about Monday are, they’re they’re, for the
most part they’re the things you’d remember anyway, the things you’ll always
remember. You should be writing down the things you’re more likely to forget, and those, you’ll only remember
those closer to the moment.
ache1
before she became ache1: That
doesn’t make any sense at all.
Mother: Yeah, not
to, yeah, I suppose you’re right.
accommodating her
youth, with such relatively little memory to either carry forward or passively
discard.
Mother: Maybe when
you’re older though.
deleted name (writing): ..which history you will
continue to bring with you on into and through your life, regardless of its
ever having been written down, or rendered ashes, or even, in fact, remembered
at all.
