Going to the bathroom was the worst part.
It had been unpleasant since the beginning. Even when the nerve running from my lower spine to my toes was only vibrating in a quick, angry hum through my left buttock — first like a door buzzer, later like a blue mosquito light — even then, the edge of the hard toilet seat carved sharpness into the pain, causing it to crescendo, a white noise briefly approaching grim color.
Read MoreGhosted by three generations of writers and artists, I excavate my way through the old house—a museum of antiques and books and family heirlooms. In the hallway, the watercolors you painted: lupine and lady slippers. Old manuscripts buried in attic chests. Cobwebbed memories clinging to the barnboard bookshelves dad built when we first moved in fifty years ago.
Read MoreI was waiting for him, again. He said he would meet me at Bangkok, a karaoke lounge and the first place I ever took him— ironically, he was late that day too. We were supposed to meet at the Recovery Room, but I kept waiting and waiting until I pulled what was for me an epic feminist move: I left. It would have been more epic if I hadn’t told him where I was going, but I did turn off my phone after texting him, so I’ll give myself half credit.
Read More
