1998: On my own at UMass Amherst for the summer, I make friends with a hippie gentleman in his late 50’s (a jazz violinist) who informs that he has an open marriage. I am 17 at the time, and he tells me that I’m quite a musician, adorable, and wise beyond my years and would have a relationship with me if only I were a year older. » 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