I am still lost. A traveler here. But I’ve recognized I have no home where I came from, no place to go back to. This sets my course.
I lost everything I had. I lost very little.
This is not the first time I’ve suffered a great loss, turned my back on people I’ve loved in the name of self-preservation. » Read more
The day after it happens, I go to school with a headache and slivers of memory. There are pieces missing, things I can’t find an explanation for. When I see the smirking faces, I feel blood burning in my brain, my body reacting without any input from my mind. I bolt to the bathroom and throw up. » Read more
9 years old
Though I am running a fever, I go to a dear friend’s sleepover at her insistence. The conversation turns to my developing body. I am the only girl in the fourth grade wearing a bra. The other girls pressure me, mock me, calling me names, chiding me for my boob fat, » Read more
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