on unlearning

I don’t plan to cry when he leaves—that’s not the girl I am at all—but it sneaks up on me when I put my head down in the crook of his neck. His shirt is so soft and it strikes me hard and fast that no one is going to be here to tuck me […]

dressing down

He says some of the most ridiculous things I’ve never heard. Like when I show up in the low, black corset, a willful adaptation of the woman my mother wanted me to be. And I get, “Oh my god. Who is the retarded nanny that dresses you?” Maybe I’m supposed to be offended. But it’s far too funny […]

who we became on the way down

Half of my family was staying on the east coast the summer it all went down. The other half was supposed to meet us there. Not all of them made it. I was eleven. “Stop faking,” Mum demanded, when I came to her about the staggering pain. By that time, I was well aware that […]