"Do you remember being little?"

He asked.

She curled her knees closer inside of her arms, one hand still holding a half empty glass of wine. The others had scurried to their cars parked on the street of by the new apartment, dripping with rain and leftover champagne.

She nodded.

"I remember my second grade teacher...I don't remember what, or why, exactly, but she was lovely. And I remember my third grade teacher. She loved the Iditerod Trail, she would look up the race stats every morning before school and move our figures on our wall so we would walk in each morning and know who's racer was in the lead, and whose racer had left the race. Every day, for the whole race."

They looked at each other in silence. He broke it off, he picked up his half of the loaf of bread.

"I remember nothing."