A manufactured memory. Dispersed incidents and realisations that must have trickled in between the ages of about eleven and sixteen, compressed by the passage of time and recurring attention into a token I hold out or exchange, in order to explain something.
Two friends from my early teens, J and A. In the case of J, the term friend should be qualified by the fact that I was quietly terrified of her covert domineering, and eventually succeeded in distancing myself, by breaking our childhood routine of walking to school together.
What gradually coalesced was a perplexed understanding of how I was not like them; such that this is a story like countless adolescent stories of not fitting in. Continue reading “The Prison of Conviction”