A few years later two commuter trains on the Illinois Central collided outside a station downturn and I understood for the first time the flinty shock of death. A family friend who made what he called antique furniture was among those killed. I didn’t cry, I was so amazed by the discovery. Dad thought I had grown up. I wasn’t paying attention at the funeral. The open casket didn’t faze me. I was fixed on the realization that life was serious it offered no do-overs. You don’t get up from play and head home wondering what happened to the fireflies of childhood.
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