Zitlali was washing dishes, letting her mind roam when she recalled a recent conversation she had with a friend about a frightening childhood accident. It struck her because she suddenly remembered specific details she had left out of the story she relayed to her friend. It was an incident she had talked about many times over the dozen-plus years since it happened, but over that time it had morphed into just another story. She had divorced herself from the moment, from the emotion of what had occurred. It was almost as if she were talking about something she had seen in a movie, happening to someone else. When the details rose to the forefront of her mind it reconnected her to the scene and the weight forced out a heavy breath. Her knees didn’t tremble, she didn’t lose balance, she just lost focus as the memory seemed to play out in slow-motion. She rarely brought it up over the next several years, and soonafter never brought it up again. After she stopped wanting to talk about it, she was no longer able to transform it back into something that had happened to someone else; it would forever be her burden to bear.