When I twisted my ankle on Nick Andrews's front path two days ago . . .Mike Pagendarm was looking down at me.He was looking down on me, and he said, out of the blue . . ."My mom wanted to know if you remember her."I looked up at him quizzically."At the house . . . when you met her today."I had no idea. He continued."My mom . . . she carried you."and then.And then it all came back.Someone had carried me Home again, on the Spring break of fifth grade.(well . . . no, not literally.)I went to a birthday party. at a roller rink.The whole class had been invited, I suppose . . . that was the only reason that I would've been there.I didn't have any friends . . . and I didn't know how to skate well at all.Katie Pagendarm took my hand and guided me around the rink.Finally . . . I thought that I could fly alone . . . and I slammed to the floor.I said not a word."My mom . . . she carried you," Mike said to me on Nick Andrews's lawn.I looked up and smiled."That was her?"Yes, it was her.After I fell at that party, I lay silent and hurting on the floor of the rink.A pair of arms came by and lifted me up swiftly.I sat in a chair at the side of the rink.I lay shivering.That was her? I asked.Wow.After I fell, I sat silent and hurting on Nick Andrews's grass (funny, how even after so much has changed, my base reactions always remain the same . . .)."Are you all right?" Andrews asked."No," I said simply, sitting sullen, staring glumly down into the grass.Mike's voice again, inside Andrews's house:"She asks about you sometimes . . . she wants to know how you're doing.""Wow . . . how does she remember me? That was so long ago . . ."Not too long ago for her.""True."Long after that event in fifth grade . . . Katie Pagendarm was in my sophomore year gym class.I knew hardly anyone in the class.We had a physical education unit on roller blading.Katie (commonly called "Kathryn" now, I suppose . . .) was there again to hold my hand.I still don't know if Katie remembered doing that for me in fifth grade.Maybe she did.I almost felt like crying, right there, on Nick Andrews's front steps.I really did . . . tears were welling up in my brain.Ahhh, but no one else catches these moments but me.When I came home that night in fifth grademy mother wouldn't believe that I had broken my ankle.I didn't know what to think.(the pain was agonizing . . . but I remained silent.)She had me soak the foot in Epsom salts, then made me walk on it.I said that I couldn't.I cried.My mother called me silly . . . she told me that I complain too much.Finally . . . after nights of terrible dreams and silent nights (when I'm in intense pain . . . I find that I have visions in the night, surreal visions that illustrate my subconscious struggling . . . visions of balls, dolls and train tracks), my parents took me to a doctor, where I found that the ankle was indeed broken.I used to cry at nights, back in grade school.I'm sure (now) that my mother had heard me.Throughout that night two days ago . . . Mike Doucette carried me.He smilingly called me stubborn when I limped ahead on the stairs to the movie theater.I asked Mike Pagendarm if he thought I was stubborn.He replied that he wouldn't like me so much if I weren't.I returned . . . "Of course you would say that . . . I do so love you, you know."What a character he is.