You think you know people.

You see a snapshot from the old days–from fifteen, sixteen years ago. The memories swim up. You think, Ah yes, those people from long ago. There were folks who were kind. Some who weren’t. And then there were some you barely knew. You stare at the photograph. Do I really remember those people?

Define remember.

Then you hear about a sacrificial gift, a private kindness pitched your way. Oddly, the gift was given so you’d be kept in the dark. Is it always helpful to be the recipient of good deeds?

Define good.

Say the snapshot does not reveal another reality–a hidden darkness, a nefariousness. A sin, as we Sunday-school teachers say. At the time of the photograph, a bullet was fired from far away. Not a real bullet, mind you, but a metaphorical one. An evil was done; a cruelty committed; a line crossed over. But it was hushed up. Denied. Forgotten.

Define forgotten.

Because, see, some people never forget.

They’re called victims.

–Double Shot / Diane Mott Davidson (awesome book)