twelve years later , i still remember every detail of that night , though it comes back to me in a tornado blur-the predawn doorbell , the solemn-faced police officers at the door , hoyt standing with them , their soft , careful words , our denials , the slow realization , linda 's drawn face , my own steady tears , my mother still not accepting , hushing me , telling me to stop crying , her already frayed sanity giving way , her telling me to stop acting like a baby , insisting that everything was fine , then suddenly , coming close to me , marveling at how big my tears were , too big , she said , tears that big belonged on the face of a child , not a grown-up , touching one , rubbing it between her forefinger and her thumb , stop crying david !