“You can’t remember your son’s name?” says Lilac.

“No!” says Debbie. “It’s great.”

“You need to go to the doctor.”

“You need to understand. I’ve been wanting this for so long, Lil. I burn dinner all the time, I can never find my car in the parking lot–I keep losing track of the year. I love it when that happens.”

“There are treatments, Debbie!” Lilac is trying to maintain eye contact; it feels like that must be important.

“I don’t want them,” says Debbie, and in her great dark pupils is the exhilaration, the need for a world without regrets.