the back of my mother’s head was spotted in an Ohio movie theater by a boy whose eyes were covered or maybe closed.  I received word secondhand from the boy’s stepfather whose own recollection was marred by the violence he shied from to reach me.  in fact, the theater was even possibly a drive-in where the boy remains in the bathroom standing on the toilet to avoid the knowledge he is no longer deaf.  like most information regarding my mother, it hasn’t aged well.  she’ll set the table at noon for two and drink her coffee and I’ll join her convinced no child dies from its hair being pulled.  more secret than my son is his ability to withstand miracles.