A lot," he added. "Don't tell me you look in the mirror
and don't see what I see when I look in the mirror.
Remember, you told me you had similar feelings and
thoughts, similar to what you saw in my poems, and
you said you expressed them through your art. "You didn't say it, but you as much as told me
that the tragedy you went through, the death of that
boy, was in your mind as somehow your fault, that
you will and would bring only trouble and pain to
anyone who cares about you or gets involved with
you. Well?" he asked sharply. "Well?" he nearly
shouted.
I shuddered. He hadn't forgotten a word, not a
syllable, and I couldn't deny it.
"Yes," I cried. "I have those thoughts." He nodded, smiling.
"But the difference between us is I don't need to
be reminded of them, especially by my family. Or by
a parent!" I said.
"Like having a father who pretends he's not
your father?" he asked smugly.
The tears that were coming from my eyes felt
so hot that I thought they would scald my cheeks as
they jerked down toward my chin.
"That's mean, Duncan."
He nodded. "I'm sorry. It is mean to say it, but
it underscores how alike you and I really are." I flicked the tears off my cheeks and sucked in
my breath. "So why did you just come back if that's
what you think? Why did you even come here today?
Why be around another sinner or someone who could
cause you to be a sinner?"
He took a while to respond. First he looked out