ABSTRACT
By now, we were growing up—or, rather, Hrant was growing up. We tried to catch lizards on the train tracks—or, rather, Hrant and his friends did. I was too small for him to take along. One day, when they were going on a lizard hunt, I made a scene. “I’m coming, too,” I said. He said no. I insisted. In the end, he told me that I was not going, and he pushed me. I fell down. Nothing broken, but I split my lip. I’ll never forget how fast I ran. When he caught up with me, he picked me up, and off we ran to the pharmacy. They sewed me up there, without anesthetic, and I have never forgotten how much it hurt. The scar on my lips is a memory of Hrant that will always be with me.
