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Sport 10: Autumn 1993


So for years, unbeknown to my parents, I carried this seed of extravagance. Or perhaps it was a cell, a rogue cell broken off and loose in the bloodstream. Cruising for years along waterways, gliding through artery walls as though they were Tunnels of Love. Such a cell would be capable of ambivalence. Where to settle? Could something so powerful be yet so dilatory? Later my parents would wonder if I hadn't been seduced by that week-long stay at the farm where the traces of extravagance remained. There was the fridge groaning with leftovers. And still a fairy light in a tree. Or, and this they feared more, and it led to a closer scrutiny of my features up until the fatal day when my profile did finally yield an irrefutable clue, was it something in Aunt Cora herself, something a child responded to, an overpowering liking, a desire for wildness, a madness to imitate. Whatever it was, and I still think it was a trick of light, it was fatal.