Tuesday August 5

This afternoon it is raining, so we are not sightseeing, and I am not going for my usual walk or bike ride. I am sitting at my big desk overlooking the yard and working on this journal. My mother is shopping after making me promise— three times, as if I'm a stupid baby—not to go outside in the rain without my raincoat. Alan Phoenix has driven Martin Phoenix to the doctor because Martin Phoenix has some kind of rash, and Luke Phoenix has gone along because he knows some of the French that his father does not.

Through the large window of my bedroom I can see the cherry trees, and beyond them a grove of olive trees, and beyond that the vineyards across the road. Past the vineyards are the tree-covered Luberon mountains, which today are shrouded with mist. The sound of the rain on the tile roof shingles of the villa makes me feel sleepy, but I open the desk drawer and take out some cinnamon gum. Peppermint would be calming and organizing but cinnamon wakes me up. My mother read about gum on an autism website and, unlike much of her advice, I find the gum to be very helpful.

Today I need to start thinking about my earliest memories and find the ones I want to include in this journal. It is easy for me to remember things. The problem is that some of the things I remember, I wish I could forget.