His mother killed herself after he was born.
She was the result of a failed abortion.
Needless to say, the fetal position was never very consoling to either of them.
He played Gymnopedie No.1 and she cried. It was the collection of subtle movements that caught her breath, held her captive, frightened and excited her all at once.
She wrote him letters after he went to sleep and slipped them in his jacket pocket that was hung neatly on the door, so he wouldn't forget it when he left in the morning.
He read the notes as he took the morning train to work.
And during the day she thought of all the lovely parakeets they would own over the years. She brushed her hair and named them one by one. She walked around the lake and thought of the children they would have. A boy, maybe a girl - maybe both. She smiled, what a thought. How much happiness could one heart contain.
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