we <i>bear</i>

I couldn't really share much with the other girls — just one of the reasons I got out of that town. They saw her and sometimes she flashed her smile, but it was as if she had an invisible shield, a cloak to hide behind or else they were in a trance of their own doing. Lite footed and sorry for all of their lives, they danced at the balls and ate from the silver dining service. They all played on teams together and walked to school with their hair combed out, sleeping in canopy beds at night, sleeping in rollers, talking on phones past sleep — talking to boyfriends — gossiping.Once one of them bit me on the ankle but I pulled my sock high up and shimmied through the Cadillac window where my mother rumbled into the circle drive, her muffler hanging off the back of her car. I saw her bare her teeth then and she called me over to the car.At first, I was embarrassed by her fur, the way she stood out in the mother daughter teas. The rest of them all bows and polished patient leather shoes. We hung to the side, her in her fur, and me skinny and white legged. A regular Eloise, minus the fun nanny. My nose beginning to elongate ever so slightly — all very subtle, but still regular. But then suddenly or slowly, I can't really pinpoint when I noticed, they could tell. Something in her was different, more animal than the rest. She couldn't seem to follow the rules, time meant little and this stood out in the pack. They set us apart — over on the other side of the room. Like we had a cage around us or an electric fence. And then, the hair began to stand up on the back of my neck. After that, we drew straws in the coat room before heading out to the dessert table and stuffing our pockets with sweets. We'd dash out the doors, slyly, stealthy like, but still quick, making our way towards the shark-finned Cadillac, me shimmying in through the passenger side window.Then, coasting our way home, down the state line towards the green light and god underneath her pillow, we'd glide, ever so gently.That first year we noted everything falling briskly I went home for Thanksgiving. Burnt mincemeat pies. I mean really charred.My sister Courtney, she pulls me aside, it can happen to anyone, the dials get sticky and you turn too far.475? and I raise an eyebrow.My mother is a pie baker extraordinaire. Mincemeat at Thanksgiving and Christmas, peach and strawberry rhubarb in the summer, apple can be done but it is not a favorite of hers. This goes deep. Two burnt pies sit on a green linoleum counter by the oven. As my sister waves her hand in the air, a signal that dismisses my worry, all of our concerns, but mostly it shrouds her own fear. Anyone, she says again. And there it is starkly, clear.I'm standing binoculars in hand, my distance gives me advantage. And suddenly, she free falls, her memory tumbling down that mountain and we are left peering through the glass, searching for (the hillside) for her. Her story becomes slippage. And the retrieval. Until it doesn't and we exhale and let her be. But this takes time, a long time.Memory is often understood as an informational processing system with explicit and implicit functioning that is made up of a sensory processor, short-term (or working) memory, and long-term memory.When I first read this, I see, Memory is often mis-understood.This makes sense. Sense is what I am after.