ｆ ｉ ｒ ｓ ｔ xxx ｍ ｅ ｍ ｏ ｒ ｉ ｅ ｓ ． ． ．
for gulliver, that's easy.
he remembers arriving at the orphanage in quick bursts and shots of light and feeling.
he remembers how cold the snow-covered ground was beneath his bare feet as he carefully made his way
up the icy steps of the old Ukrainian building. He went first -- Gulliver always goes first.
he remembers having to help his brother up the steps; he remembers having to pause every few steps
to let Princeton cough and hack and learn to breathe again. he remembers that Princeton wasn't called Princeton then.
he remembers worrying and wondering if they'd ever arrive at the top.
he remembers the anxiety; he remembers trying not to let it show. he remembers smiling and whispering
soft encouragements to his bother with every step. he remembers how exhausted Princeton was when they
reached the top.
"they'll help us here." he'd told his little brother in a whisper as he reached for the handle on the rickety old doors.
"they'll help us."
he remembers how very wrong he was.
for princeton, it isnt that simple.
for him, memories come in floods and waves, whispers and shadows, things that lurk just out of reach.
he cannot place the things he remembers; he cannot even tell if they're all real. he cannot tell which
memory fragment comes first, second, etc., but he does remember some things.
he remembers listening to the radio back at the orphanage. he remembers sitting on the creaky
wooden floor with his brother and flicking aimlessly through stations as gulliver looked at a book of maps and
pointed out the locations they heard. he remembers stopping on one station that was
speaking in English about universities. he remembers when it said the most ambitious of people
go to princeton university.
"Princeton." he recalls repeating, and how he beamed as he said it. the most ambitious of people
go to princeton. the best of the best go to princeton. he wanted to be the best of the best.
he was going to be the best of the best.
for gulliver, that's easy.
he remembers arriving at the orphanage in quick bursts and shots of light and feeling.
he remembers how cold the snow-covered ground was beneath his bare feet as he carefully made his way
up the icy steps of the old Ukrainian building. He went first -- Gulliver always goes first.
he remembers having to help his brother up the steps; he remembers having to pause every few steps
to let Princeton cough and hack and learn to breathe again. he remembers that Princeton wasn't called Princeton then.
he remembers worrying and wondering if they'd ever arrive at the top.
he remembers the anxiety; he remembers trying not to let it show. he remembers smiling and whispering
soft encouragements to his bother with every step. he remembers how exhausted Princeton was when they
reached the top.
"they'll help us here." he'd told his little brother in a whisper as he reached for the handle on the rickety old doors.
"they'll help us."
he remembers how very wrong he was.
for princeton, it isnt that simple.
for him, memories come in floods and waves, whispers and shadows, things that lurk just out of reach.
he cannot place the things he remembers; he cannot even tell if they're all real. he cannot tell which
memory fragment comes first, second, etc., but he does remember some things.
he remembers listening to the radio back at the orphanage. he remembers sitting on the creaky
wooden floor with his brother and flicking aimlessly through stations as gulliver looked at a book of maps and
pointed out the locations they heard. he remembers stopping on one station that was
speaking in English about universities. he remembers when it said the most ambitious of people
go to princeton university.
"Princeton." he recalls repeating, and how he beamed as he said it. the most ambitious of people
go to princeton. the best of the best go to princeton. he wanted to be the best of the best.
he was going to be the best of the best.
