“The present doesn’t change the past. Is the fact that the past happened enough to make the present good? Is the past real? Was it real anymore?”

“When you’ve been on a boat for a while, its sounds gets to be like the sound of your own heartbeat. It’s always there, constant, steady, until after a while you don’t hear it anymore. Then something changes. The speed, or the rhythm, or the tune. Suddenly the sound rings in your ears.”

“Sometimes when you read a book or watch a TV show, you see the people and you think, Don’t do that. Don’t open that door. Don’t answer that phone. You know everything is about to change. “Stop!” you want to say. “Rewrite the story. Rewind the tape. Don’t let it happen that way.” But you can’t. The people always open the door or answer the phone. The bad thing always happens, and there is nothing you can do about it.”

“Ben,” Dad snarled. He was tired. “Life jacket and safety harness. Always. When you’re alone on deck at night, we’d never know if you fell off. You’d be left behind. We’d never find you.”“Doesn’t sound so bad,” I said.”

“Gerry breathed loudly and slowly. “Dylan,” he said accusingly, “that was a sad story.”“Not it’s not. It’s a happy story. It’s about a mom who loved her baby very much.”“But she’s gone,” Gerry said in a very little voice.“That doesn’t mean she loves you any less,” Dylan said.”

“I was letting myself come back to life and it wasn’t good.”

“What’s up?” I said.“Nothing.”“I mean what’s wrong?”“My leg is broken.”“Yeah, I noticed.”