I have a strange memory of passing a book in bed. Each of us reading a chapter aloud. We were into a routine, and a glass of water passed from side table to side table as well. Reading out loud can be taxing. We enunciated, as if on stage, only more softly. Conscious of mistakes, but weighing the greater disruption - whether to smooth over and on, or exacerbate by backing up, repeating? We each read well, in strong voices, clear and warm.
I don't remember what book.
I don't remember what bed.
I don't remember what us.
Who were we?
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