The Book of Intimate Grammar

“Why don’t we visit her anymore?”
Yochi thought awhile. “I go.”
“You? Liar. When?”
“Twice a week, at least. I go to visit her straight from school.”
“Does Mama know?”
“No one knows. And if you dare—”
“So — how is she?”
“Same as she was. Poor thing.”
“Does she still sleep all the time?”
“No.”
“You mean she woke up? She’s awake?”
“She doesn’t take the sleeping pills anymore.”
“Then … then how … she has to!”
“The fact is, she doesn’t. She’s awake. She lies in bed looking at the sky. There’s a tree outside her window. She stares at it.” Yochi spoke gently: “The leaves are falling. I tell her things.”
“You mean she …” Oh God. “You mean she recognizes you?”
“No. But I think she feels it’s me. She holds my hand.”