The young Amy asked again, “Mama, what stories did Kinjo-san tell you this time?”
Lynn thought for a second, but she could not remember the details of her trip. Something was amiss, yet she could not point her finger to it. She observed the interiors of her home and then Benny and Amy. Benny was Benny and not Benny at the same time. So was Amy. She stared at the orange clock on the wall. The soft yet persistent ticking sound of the clock’s hand filled the space. Without losing sight of the wall clock, she asked, “What day is it, Amy?”
“It’s Sunday, Mama!”
Lynn stared at her with a frown. It was Thursday when she got home, weary from her trip to the museum, and before she knew it, her eyes closed, and she drifted into sleep.
“What do you want to know, Amy?”
“Well! Tell me something you have never shared before!”
This was not the Amy she knew. Where was Amy? Who was this Benny in front of her? Her mind raced. All of a sudden, she could hear the raging storm outside. There could only be a few possibilities for all these to happen, and worst of all, she smelled an illusion. She composed herself quickly, considered her options, and decided to play along. She decided to share a particular memory of Kinjo-san. She was ready to set the place ablaze.