A beginning


Soon after you were born you tore yourself away from the person who was holding you and flew upwards. You proceeded across the room. It was the middle of the night and the curtains were not drawn. We saw you reflected in the glass of the window. You paused for a moment and the hospital bed, your astonished parents and the unperturbed nurse were reflected below you. You may have been asleep. We weren’t sure. You twitched slightly and began to power up again, picking up speed as you approached the open window. Your cotton wrap fluttered in the air and the ghost of a hand cradled your head. Once out of the window you went into town with great confidence and returned after an hour and a half. In your small clenched fist you held a thread or it may have been the stalk of an apple. Attached to it were various round objects that you had collected on your excursion into Tokoroa; a soccer ball, a large mottled egg, a lemon, a granny smith apple and a ginger-haired wig with the long hair at the back pulled into a ponytail. Everyone was delighted with your return. In their madness to hold you and inspect you for damage, everyone forgot about your small store of roundish items. We collected them or put them on ice or froze them or ran after them when they rolled away down various natural declines. As your Autobiography we feel it only right to return these items to you, the items you yourself collected in your infancy, items you went to a great deal of trouble to stockpile. We thank you for reading this accompanying note. We hope you might like to make contact. If not we will be waiting.

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