Be careful what you wish for, Lilla—Elizabeth. Remembering was worse, far worse, than blissful ignorance. My memories weren't simply gliding open like a blooming flower. Oh no; they came like falling rocks, incomplete, out of sequence, and incomprehensible. Paying for my own drinks. Dancing with strange men to throbbing music, bare armed and.... I barely noticed where I was walking, except that it was away from anyplace Garrison had taken me. I was too busy trying not to let the damned, overlong skirts and petticoats trip me—and too busy mentally dodging falling, fragmented memories. At some point I crossed the huge, rutted dirt street and the railroad track, outran a team of at least eight mules, and almost choked on the dust it raised. This place seemed increasingly like a nightmare that didn't make sense and couldn't be escaped. I found myself in a grassy "alley" behind the saloons I'd seen from Front Street—the Lady Gay, the "Commie-Cue." Even in the mid-afternoon I could hear whooping men and jangly piano music, nothing classical like from the Long Branch.
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