I nearly break my ankle on my nephew’s robot dog as I walk in. Its eyes are glassy, and I shouldn’t see anything in them at all, but I feel like they’re sizing me up. I hear heavy footsteps from the kitchen, and then my sister emerges, “Hey.”
“Hey.” » Read more
I glance at my phone. New text message:
“Starting to wonder where you are.”
I log into e-mail, social networks. She’s contacted me there. The pleas are desperate, passive-aggressive, subtly scathing. She knows how to needle me better than anyone, having installed a lot of my neuroses herself.
It’s been 10 days since I’ve called her, » Read more
I’ve had my training collar for about a month. At first, I just wore it to events, and then Skyspook and I had a sit-down a week or two ago, at which he requested that I wear it as much as possible around the house, which I happily obliged. I don’t wear it outside the house other than to take out the trash or get the mail – » Read more
I lost my belief in so many beautiful traditions long ago.
I raised myself on movies of the week and Hallmark moments. As my parents rarely commented on life’s “bigger issues” or even had many conversations beyond “I like what you’ve done with the meatloaf” with each other in front of us, » Read more
Dieting has been very much a part of my psyche since I first started going to Weight Watchers meetings at 3 years old. I found the brochures exquisite, color-coded, graduating through a program whose logical progression appeased my young brain’s need for order. They were the first thing I read. While my mother made copious notes on a legal pad, » Read more
I came out about my sexual orientation to my mother today.
It started when we were talking about one of my friends from college. “You knew she was gay, right?” I said.
Mom said, “I think so. I barely remember her.”
“You know, Mom,” I continued. “I have A LOT of gay friends.” » Read more
Silence disturbs me. I grew up attached to the hip of a mother who chattered incessantly. Mostly to me, sometimes to herself, often into the phone. Dishing out the gossip while stirring a big pot of spaghetti sauce, thick links of sausage bobbing beneath the surface. When she was silent, she was sullen, moody, brooding – » Read more
Just about everyone else in my family is Catholic (except for a few crazy uncles we were never allowed to associate with except for at large family gatherings). Many women in my family love angels. My mother is especially fond of them. She remarked on many occasions that it was a bizarre coincidence that I was born a week after my great grandmother died. » Read more
1988: My grandmother woke us in the middle of the night. I saw her standing there in the hallway in her velvet bathrobe looking quite the grande dame and knew instantly. My brother and I leapt from our beds and jumped up and down like little howler monkeys. Our parents were home!
They’d only been gone for two days on a trip to Portland, » Read more
I’m the hyper, nauseatingly precocious kid in all the snaps, wearing an evening gown at the breakfast table, correcting my mother’s grammar in a Grover t-shirt. A good Catholic girl who still idolizes her father because he works 70 hours a week and never says anything to her.
Those are the years before I understand loneliness as more than an abstraction, » Read more