When Courtney looked back, laughed, and began to run, she didn't know that loose gravel at the corner would leave her with skinned knees, elbows, and temple. When I closed my eyes to watch light strobe beneath my lids as the train passed behind a pine line, I didn't know my gall bladder was packing itself full of stones. When Myra snapped "go away" when I pointed out that you could tell Vollard and Vuillard were different people because their names were spelled differently ("see, v-o-l and v-u-i-l") she didn't know that in half an hour she'd be sweating and trembling because she thought I'd left in Washington, D.C., with no money. When my mother waved to me as I drove off to visit a friend in Atlanta, she didn't know she'd be in a coma when I returned. When I saw dirt piled over the septic tank, I didn't know that in three weeks the pipes would start backing up again, so I lingered in the steaming water, singing, my reflection fading in the mirror.