Chapter XIX, where Adele realizes she doesn't know where she came from

Isn't this weird? I have only realized it this morning, exactly at 6:15 a.m. as I was showering before leaving. I mean. I was never a child, can you imagine that? I was born this age. I was born old. I don't have parents and I have no memories of my childhood, I was never a silly teenager. Never had crushes. Never had to think why I was not popular. I never got to play. I never got to ride a bike and fall and have my knees hurt. I didn't have to learn the alphabet. My handwriting has always been neat. I never had a thing for telephones they way 3-year-old kids have. I didn't have a brother who would talk to me while my mom was pregnant with me: Hey, you, I'm your brother, we're all waiting for you out here. We can't wait. I have never listened to classical music in my mom's womb. Like Chopin or something. Chopin makes me cry. I never had a dog who would be my best friend in the whole world and who then just died one day. I have never been to a funeral.

My double's grandmother sewed her a rag doll. She was probably 8 or 9. Her grandmother was really old and had Parkinson disease. She'd shake and sew. She painted eyes and a mouth on the doll face and of course it was all blurred. She gave the doll to my double, who simply said: I don't like it, grandma. I think she regrets it. I think it's probably the one thing in her life she regrets really. Her grandma baked her cakes and the perfume would take the whole house. My double dreamed about her grandmother right after her passing away. She said, 'It's me - grandma. I can't tell you exactly where I am, but I just want to know if you're ok.' She was. She hung up the phone. Her grandpa was a cowboy, whose greatest pride was having moved to the city and having been able to build a house. He would kiss her again and again; he was often unshaved. It tickled her face. She would laugh. He told her stories and held her tightly.

I never had any of those things.