What can you say about a twenty-five-old girl who died?
You can say that she was beautiful and intelligent. She loved Mozart and Bach and the Beatles. And me. Once, when she told me that, I asked her who came first. She answered, smiling, ‘Like in the ABC.’ I smiled too. But now I wonder. Was she talking about my first name? If she was, I came last, behind Mozart. Or did she mean my last name? If she did, I came between Bach and Beatles. But I still didn’t come first. That worries terribly now. You see, I always had to be Number One. Family pride, you see.