"Miss," he said, in a flat voice, until I heard him over the music. "Miss. Your stop. Miss."
In my grandparents' house I ate guacamole on crackers and tried to decompress from the events of the past few weeks. Usually talking is a good way to do this, and so is being with my grandmother, but it was hard to shake that feeling of unease. At night I got into bed and began to watch men's curling, but the game was slow-moving and obscure, so I walked down to the office. Along the walls are hundreds of old photographs and sometimes looking at them is a kind of balm. There is a lot of stuff that came before this, you realize, and a lot that's coming after it.