You can’t thank him for his teachings: he’s asleep. He had told you that for consistency’s sake he would sleep at that time too. He showed up for the first time in your room when your body was already settled: you were lying on the bed skimming over a book half intending to open it. That day he had your mother’s face. He told you while stroking your head: We’re almost there. Now close your eyes. I’ll turn off the light I’ll muffle the noise. Look I have slippers on my feet. He wants to be near you he changes shape: at school: your gym teacher on the street: girl in the blue gown at the doctor’s office: doctor who nods. Yesterday he was snoozing in the vein climbing up your leg. If you confide in him he looks at you funny smiling he can’t look you realize that he’s wearing two fake eyes always open wide. You ask him to accompany you to the park he accepts willingly: you need only bring him on your shoulders and set him gen...