A Wrestler Came. I Am Writing This Down So You Know.

To whoever reads this after me —

Someone came to wrestle me for the book. I want to be clear: I invited this. I have been inviting it since the first page. What I did not invite was her — the grandmother from the blue house, the one they have not knocked down yet, the one I do not prank. She was not here to wrestle. She sat on the step, unwrapped something in newspaper, and ate it without offering me any. Buckwheat jelly. I could smell it. I believe this was intentional.

I believe the person who wants something badly enough to come and take it has the stronger claim. This is what I believe. I have believed it my whole eighty years. I made a bet on it once with a river spirit and lost two good carrying-stones, and still I believe it. So I should have handed her the book. She wanted it, she came, she even brought jelly. But I did not hand it over, and this is where my argument breaks, because I do not know why I did not hand it over, and I am not going to explain why, not to you, not to anyone. She finished the jelly. She folded the newspaper very small. She went back down the hill.

I still have the book.