Four months after my foil came off, Rain made a splash in a major psychiatric journal with her dissertation on her work with me called ‘‘Foiled.’’ Fourteen months later, she wrote a Harper Collins-published book with that same title, and it was glowingly reviewed in the Times but sold poorly. Dr. Rain earned what I earned, $18,500, which was massive compared to my typical disability checks. Dr. Rain had said I should think of ‘Foiled’ as a team effort. The cover photograph is of me taken just after my great aunt had died. 

“You and Dr. Pell did stupendous work,” Dr. Rain said.

“Amen.”

“Never forget that, okay, Rufus?” she said. 

Inside the book jacket, though, was the wonderful selfie Dr. Rain and I took the day I was set free of the tinfoil, the day my life became considerably brighter. The pictures were like before and after shots, redemptive. Today, I ponder all of this hoopla from my new one bedroom on Whitney Avenue in Hamden, and I live 2.9 miles from Courage House. I joined a running club and practice speeches at Toastmaster’s International at New Haven City Hall once a month, and work at the local Red Cross.