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I think it showed why the attempted usurp affected me more than it did the Princess. I was with father in my dream, as was it that distraught day. We were accompanying the King on a political venture. It was mid-day when we heard a trumpet’s horn. It was what they used to coordinate the attack. At the sound, the sentries surrounded us all and began pushing us into a near building. That’s when the arrows came, so many arrows, from all around us. Men in dark green clothes flooded our street from the alleys. My father, one of the King’s highest sentries, told me to run away, get as far away from anybody that I remembered seeing that day. I listened and obeyed; whether father or the King’s personal sentry, he’s not someone to disobey. I ran from him, the sentry’s, anybody that I recognized; the only people that I recognized were the people who worked for the King. I didn’t want to run too far so I stopped and looked back. Father saw me but ignored me, he acted like I didn’t. .. in the Healey, you letch!" she giggled.I was waiting on the front step when Beth skidded into the driveway. "Jeez, woman, where's the fire?" I want to go swimming!" Okay, let me get my suit." I stood up just in time to see that look that said I was being dense, again. "Oh, you mean at the farm!" Beth had hopped out of the car and slid in the passenger seat. Obviously, I was driving.We got to the farm only to find Greg's car already parked in the field above the pond.I looked at Beth, "Looks like we're not the only ones with the idea of taking a dip. Should we let them know we're here?"Beth got that look on her face that said our friends were in for a surprise. She jumped out of the car and started pulling her clothes off. What could I do but join her?As we got near the bushes screening the pond we could hear Cindy's giggle. Beth peeked through the bushes and saw our friends at the far end of the pool with Cindy floating on her back as Greg licked one of her prominent nipples. Beth.
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“Tell me about David Weaver. What is your earliest memory?”“It’s funny, but my earliest memory, my mother was convinced that I built it up from hearing adults talk, that I couldn’t possibly remember. I clearly remember laying on my back on the coffee table in my parent’s home. My mother was sitting on the couch, leaning over to change my diaper. I could describe the room, the color of the couch, who was there and what they were wearing. The woman sitting near her on the couch was an old friend, visiting Chicago for the first time in a decade, and not to return for another, so she placed the memory at me being about nine months old.”“Really? I don’t remember back nearly that far. Tell me about your mother.”We talked all afternoon, and Damien was a skilled interviewer. His silent companion never spoke, but he took notes in a small, spiral bound notebook that he pulled from his pocket.Damien had me digging up memories that I hadn’t known were there. Like the first time I met Christine. I.

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