When Elizabeth died, I didn’t understand what was happening. That’s not true. I knew what was happening, I just kept forgetting. And I still don’t remember most of it. Whenever I want to remember the date she died, I look it up on the internet.
This is what I remember: She was all-American. Her family was Korean. She listened to terrible pop music. Her pierced navel became infected, and she was too scared to disinfect it herself. She dated my first college boyfriend. She laughed like a child. She was failing Genetics. She rollerbladed around campus, and her helmet was too large. She fenced. […]