This wasn’t true. Couldn’t be true. It was utterly unfamiliar to me. And yet, when I looked closely, I could see that the binding was not new, that the cover was yellowing and soft at the edges, that there was writing inside, my writing, markings I myself had made on the score. Irrefutably, in the upper right-hand corner of the title page, was my own name, written in neat student script.
I laughed, which was easy to do, for I felt like laughing that day, and agreed of course it was mine, that’s right, how forgetful I am sometimes.
I was forgetful.