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For my mother,

who instilled in me a love of words;

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“The stupid pop machine isn’t taking my money,” she’d wailed. “Caffeine is urgent. Do you have change?” She was completely freaking out, enough to leave an emotional imprint on the money she was holding, enough for me to pick up on less than an hour later.

I’d found a few coins for her and accepted the dollar in return, which I stuck in my jacket pocket. I must have brushed against it when I reached for the Provigil bottle— just when I was feeling faint, just when I was vulnerable. If I put the money back in my pocket, I could accidentally slide into Amber again later.

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