None of those people did anything wrong.
They had bought outfits and booked rooms and driven in and sat through a thing that had been detonated by a woman they did not know, in a uniform, before the speeches.
And in the telling — the version I gave a friend in the November, the one I have given about nine times — they are not in it.
There is my mother and there is me and there is a folder, and the two hundred people are a number that makes the moment land.
They are not a number. Edith is eighty-four and she came on a coach.
What I have had to take.
And here it is, and it is not the folder.
I have been telling the 2016 story for nine years.
The orange. The fees letter on the counter. The car with the bow. Rina's different.
All of it is true. I have the letter and I have the dates and there is a photograph of that car with a bow on it that my father put online on the eleventh of September, 2016.
