When the aspirin wore off

May day began. I woke when the aspirin wore off. I loved the stories I heard despite the ringing in my ears from the aspirin. Had to do with a certain chain. Looked almost like a dog chain, but with smaller, smoother links, I was four, that I dragged around the dogless back yard and then dragged over to the white haired couple who lived in the white stucco with red trim. Or blue. The Bowens always were kind, as long as I didn’t hide in the plants that Mrs. Bowen didn’t want trampled. What mattered was that Mr. Bowen approved of the chain and the light bulb. The one I managed to fit into one of my pants pockets. That’s my good place. I call it my sub par place because I could sort of find light in the bulb by holding it just so, so the sunlight caught in it and sort of lit it up. I checked it repeatedly. Mr. Bowen said I had the “whole kit and caboodle.” And of course, that mattered to me, made me feel a sub par that was two notches better because my father had recently died. A whole generation of dads had vanished by 1949.