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Before bed, I text myself a reminder to write in the morning about the time I visit him near Crested Butte in October. It is my first understanding of how early winter comes to the mountains—the marvel of fall suddenly brought to its knees by the first violent winter storm.
Read MoreI sit on my couch as social distancing becomes a hashtag and debate whether 7:30 pm on a Saturday night is too early to wash off makeup. There are things I can do in my apartment. I can finish the jigsaw puzzle I started months ago or read an unread book in my library.
Read MoreI drove Bennet to the airport as he left our six-week-old marriage for his nine month tour of duty in Vietnam. He was dressed in a clean starched Army uniform. I was dressed in dread. After waving to the plane until it was a tiny dot in the overcast sky, I walked back to my car feeling as if he had died.
Read More"You are a solitary," observed the attorney I had hired to draw up my will. She had asked me to list the family members and friends to whom I would consider leaving my worldly goods. Both categories were skimpy. Thus by her lights, my very small circle of significant people in my life qualified me as a "solitary," which would present not a small challenge in disposing of those aforementioned possessions.
Read More“Hi, I’m Bunny, how are you?” she said. Her name caught my attention. “Bunny” is “an informal name of a rabbit, especially a small, young one” in the dictionary. I looked it up; those days, I carried a pocket size English dictionary with me.
Read MorePraying during the first grief-soaked month following my father’s death felt rote to me. Awkward. I had taken on the obligation of saying the Mourner’s Kaddish every day for at least a month before realizing I had forgotten how to pray. A professor in college who gave me a C on a paper about James Joyce’s Ulysses said I was like a blind woman trying to describe a painting in front of her. That’s how it felt saying the Kaddish.
Read MoreThe last time I went to the church of my childhood, I wore my collar—my hot, plastic, clerical collar. I felt obvious and tender in it, like a burgeoning zit, like everyone would stare. And yet, I wanted them to stare, I wanted them to look at me and be amazed.
Read MoreWe held our hands in prayer. “Te lo pido, señor.” That week, it was my turn to visit Marco at the Elizabeth Detention Center, a contract detention facility in New Jersey used by Immigrations and Customs Enforcement to detain immigrants determined to be “suspicious” or “illegal.”
Read MoreI am seven years old. It’s time for communion in my United Methodist Church in a small town in mid-Michigan. After watching communion by intinction happen for so many years from the sidelines, I am excited when my mom tells me it is okay for me to line up in the center aisle with her and slowly shuffle forward, waiting for my time to tear a piece of bread off the soft, white loaf and dip it in the grape juice.
Read MoreThe coconut palm in the field behind my house worships the wind. Its feather duster head sweeps low, bows to the earth like a holy roller in ecstasy, and then snaps back skyward—defiant—in an elastic, resurrecting leap that blasts the law of gravity.
Read MoreI was on my hands and knees trying to hide a twelve-piece dinner set under my single bed when I heard Mum calling from the bedroom next door. She’d been in bed for two days, suffering from either a bad back or codeine withdrawals. I pushed the crockery behind a box of stainless steel cutlery and some gingham tea towels I’d bought from Woolworth’s the day before.
Read MoreI lost count after the first ten, twenty, seventy-five, a thousand. I remember the first time. Driving with my sisters, one of them said, I’ve had sex with a woman. Stunned into revelation, I blurted, so have I. But she was kidding. Entrapment, and I fell for it.
Read MoreParis, City of Love, where we lay our scene of adventurous study abroad college students. Me and the girls were out in a little bar late at night. The lights were cool, a featured musician was playing acoustic, and my friends and I were ready for some dessert.
Read MoreThe day I came out? I’m sure it’s not uncommon to come out on multiple occasions. I expect the circumstances in which I came out are a bit unusual though. To understand that takes context: My girlfriend was once my neighbor—at a Southern Baptist Theological Seminary—where we lived with our husbands—who were studying to be pastors.
Read MoreThe first time that I really tell someone, the words belong to her, like me and everything else in the world around us. We are alone, and I don’t remember where the rest of our friends are or maybe we aren’t alone and all of our friends are with us but I can only ever think of her.
Read More"You're not very gracious, are you?" he said, flashing a wry smile from his perch near the ultrasound monitor, next to the exam table on which I lay. I felt a pang; I don't like to think of myself as ungrateful. I hadn't shown much appreciation when he declared that the wound from a biopsy performed a few months earlier had healed well, that everything looked fine, and that I could now go a whole eight months, as opposed to six, or three, before my next round of precautionary imaging.
Read MoreOnce again, I find myself in a strange place where nobody knows me. I am naked. And drunk on Jack Daniels and fucked up on Quaaludes and coming out of another blackout. The blackouts are coming more frequently now since I am drinking on a daily basis. Because of the blackouts, I’m never sure where I’ll wake up.
Read MoreMy body is a windowless cage. The vessel trapping me in the memories of how I have been maimed and wounded. I look at old videos of myself laughing with friends and wonder about this stranger who laughs so freely, before she felt the weight of rape and womanhood set on her shoulders. After all, what is being a woman, if not being a plaything for others to abuse?
Read MoreI was sitting upright for the first time in about a week. I’d tried a few days earlier, but very soon my head pounded, and I vomited down myself. They said the lumbar puncture could do that. Now though, I could use the bed remote control to sit myself up. Under the white sheets I could make out the shape of what was supposed to be me.
Read MoreGrowing up, the Black girls I saw hid in mirrors.
In the wood panel bathroom, the girl had endless marks on her face. She looked back at me with disdain as I moved through middle and high school. Her ears flew out the sides of her head under hair too short and not straight enough.
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