Jacksonville Beach: South Second Street, Apprehending and Seeing

by Tim Gilmore, 7/15/2012

He had told her different kinds of understanding were okay. You didn’t have to comprehend something, and he explained what that meant, if you could apprehend something, and he explained what that meant.

She had been asleep for two hours, when, at 11:02, his six year-old daughter said, “I see them sometimes.” From the breakfast bar in the kitchen, he moved quickly to her room, and asked her, “What do you see?” Again she said, “I see them sometimes,” and now, idiotically, he felt that if he could know what she sometimes saw, whatever it was could answer all kinds of questions he didn’t even know he had, though he could feel them in his desperation to know. So again he asked her, “What do you see?” and she shook her head, “No, she said, “I don’t know.” He asked her, “Were you talking in your sleep?” She said, “I don’t know,” she said, “I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know.” Then she turned over and faced the wall and fell instantly back to sleep.