I feel like I can touch that day, that moment in time, as if it was now, this
second, Kate thought. The past and the present are both happening together,
piled on each other like bits of paper on a pointed spindle attached to a
small square of wood on someone’s old-fashioned desk. Time isn’t spread
out in a line. It’s all stacked up on itself, all happening at once. At twenty-
three, lying by the South China Sea, I’m also still my sixteen-year-old self
throwing up by the soccer field in New York City. Had the future already
happened when I was sixteen? Had my twenty-three-year-old self been with
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me back then; only then, I just didn’t remember the future?
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