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‘Idiot. That was the true miracle of the gift; without actual experience, to imagine love and hate and greed and how they would react upon each other; and then, when these passions had served their temporary purpose, to cast them aside for new imaginings. Her motherly features creased into anxious wrinkles. This was the worst summer that I ever had in my life, Europe and all, and I can’t tell you how many times I drove by that Violin Camp hoping to catch a look at you, praying that there wasn’t some horny violin guy waiting to ask you out. I don’t want a family in the suburbs and Christmases at the Florida house and summers at the Hamptons. She sat in deep thought for a moment or two, and then nodding briskly, dipped the pen in the ink again and began to write. Teenage boys never change, she thought to herself. You could walk the city streets and with every blink you could take in a new sight of beauty so great that your heart would weep for it.
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