“It’s like hypnosis,” Sharon said.

David sighed. “You’re trying to explain something you don’t understand in terms of something else you don’t understand.”

“Okay. Maybe.” Sharon kicked the ground with her heel. She and David were each sitting on a swing at the school yard. It was a cloudless morning. A flock of waxwings chased itself in the distance, above the fjord.

Sitting outside in the sun, David thought about how dim the interior of the library had been, with its handful of Edison lights. The sun was warm on his face; the air smelled crisp. For the first time since yesterday, David felt his brain clearing. He smiled.

This time yesterday morning, David had been stuffing underwear and Tylenol into his backpack. His mum had driven him to the bus station that afternoon. David had spent all night on a bus. He had slept a little. He had wrestled with a migraine most of the night.

David had taken a ferry across the fjord, and had tea with his grandparents. He had received a small box in the mail from an unknown sender. He had snoozed (somewhat) at his grandparents’ cottage. David had walked to the library and chatted with the Librarian. Now he was sitting in a schoolyard with a lady he had met on the bus.

In short, nothing had happened in the past day.

“Okay, tell me,” he said. “How is it like hypnosis?”

“We’re both tired,” said Sharon. “That makes us open to suggestion. Someone says something and we think we remember it. Together we build the story until we both believe it.”

David considered this. He knew a migraine could make him susceptible to seeing and hearing things that weren’t there. “What about the whiffle box?” David said.

“Let me see it.”

David passed the box to Sharon. She turned it over once or twice in her hands, and looked at David.

“I’ve seen these before, David,” she said. “It’s a puzzle box. It’s a game. A toy. It looks like there’s no way to open it. But that’s the game. You need to find a panel. You slide and twist it the right way. The box opens.” She handed it back to David.

“Where did it come from?” said David.

“It came in an envelope?” said Sharon. “Let me see.” David unfolded the envelope from his pocket and handed it to Sharon. She examined it a moment, rubbing the stamps with her thumb. She leaned toward David.

“This stamp is from Turkey,” she said. “The picture is from Istanbul. That’s waterway is the Bosphorus. I’ve been there.”

David flinched. Something about Sharon’s words reminded him of something— He didn’t know what.

“The other stamps— I don’t know. I don’t recognize the orthography, either.” She handed the envelope back to David.

“The ortho—?”

“The language, the writing, the alphabet,” said Sharon. “It’s similar to some 4,000-year old scripts I’ve seen, but here’s the thing—”

David continued to prod the wooden box with his thumbs. Sharon tried to look him in the eye, but his focus was on the mysterious item—what Sharon had called a toy.

“This didn’t come in the mail from halfway around the world. Not addressed like this,” Sharon said. “It’s a game. You came to see your grandparents. They want you to have fun. Have fun!”

David turned his eyes towards Sharon. She gave a little nod.

“Who’s Suzie?” said David.

Sharon scoffed. “Not thirteen!” she said. “Suzie’s my age. Somehow her name got wrapped up in all this verbal mayhem. But your picture of her is muddled. That just proves that it’s all a story that we think we remember.”

“So the classroom? The water? The staircase?” said David.

“That’s just it! I didn’t remember any of that until you brought it up!”

Sharon had been rocking back and forth on the swing. She stopped. David followed her line of sight. Sharon was focused on something at the end of the block. Her eye was on the intersection of Broadway and Main.

“What is it?” David said.

“The street light. I didn’t think it worked.”

David could see the distant light flicker from green to amber. His mouth fell open. He let out a small squeak.

“It’s never worked,” he said.

“Okay, stop! You’re doing it again,” Sharon said. “Things get fixed.”

A cinnamon cat bumped against Sharon’s ankle. She scooped the cat into her lap and stroked it under the chin. The cat must have approved. It leaned into Sharon’s knuckles and purred.

Sharon stopped petting the cat. She looked at its eyes. She turned her head toward the school building, then to the rest of the playground.

Sharon gripped David’s upper arm. “David. Where are we?”

“Oh,” said David. “It’s the schoolyard. That’s the elementary school building and—”

“No, David!” Sharon snapped. “When did we come here?”

The cat purred.

David blinked.

“Dang!” he said. “Not again!”