

Excerpt from
Amenia, a Memoir—
A Dream
On the upper floor of The Maples in the front of the
house over the front door and porch is a slender room like a Pullman car.
It’s hardly a room at
all but could be used for a long walk-through closet. It has a door at each
end, one separating it from the master bedroom and the other simply entering
onto a hallway. The windows in the room are small and high, like eyes look
out to the front lawn, the field and across Leedsville Road to a cow pasture.
I slept in this room, the forehead of the house.
In the dream, I am sleeping here when the door to the master bedroom opens
and my grandfather—not Mel but my father’s father the Russian bald
and white-mustachioed, walks slowly towards me, his face huge and round glowing
like the full moon and grinning like a Jack-o-lantern. I am a child terrified
rooted to my little bed in the forehead of the house.


