You are America. Yes, you are, my wicked boy. When we flew to New York and drove...

You are America. Yes, you are, my wicked boy. When we flew to New York and drove in on the highway, whatever the highway is, and those graveyards that are surrounded by cars and the traffic, and that was very confusing and frightening to me. I said do Matija, 'I don't like this'. I was crying. Motorized America with all the endless cars that never stop, and then, suddenly, the place of rest is between that. And they are thrown a little here and a little there. It's so very scary to me, so extremely opposite and different that I couldn't understand it. Through you it is all different now. Do you know? Through you I can think of those stones with understading now. I only wish now I went places with you. I was wishing today, all day, thinking of the places."
"Which places?"
"To where you were born. I would have liked to go to the Jersey shore."
"We should have gone. I should have taken you."
Shoulda, Woulda, Coulda. The three blind mice.
"Even to New York City. To show it to me through your eyes. I would have liked that. Wherever we went, we always went to hide. I hate hiding. I wouldn't mind to go to New Mexico with you. To California with you. But mainly to New Jersey, to see the sea where you grew up."
"I understand." Too late, but I understand. That we don't perish of understanding everything too late, that is a miracle.