"Forgetting and remembering are two sides of the same coin," the old woman says as the hills blur by.

I half smile and politely stare out the window.  The wind passes over the tops of the hills like waves, and the bus leaves rocking brambles in its wake.

"I remember being here, and I remember how wide-eyed and excited I was.  There were three rainbows on that bus ride.  I remember they were all for me," she continues, glancing at me.  I shift in my seat.

"But for the life of me I can't remember what drew me to this place, or why I haven't come back until now.  Some magic, I think.  I knew I just had to come here to see for myself.  But I forget why, exactly.  Only that I had to come for me, to see something for once before anyone else."

The rain starts up again, bouncing off the windows.  She settles into her seat.  The bus rocks her to sleep.  I stare out the window and forget.

photo by Harry Bloom.

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