She Liked To Imagine That When She

I Was Trying To Prove To Them And To Myself That I Was Still Who I Had Always Been. I Was Beautiful, If Fat. I Was Smart, If Loud. I Was Good, If Ruined.

I Loved The Way The Burned-out Flashcubes Of The Kodak Instamatic Marked A Moment That Had Passed, One That Would Now Be Gone Forever Except For A Picture.

And In A Small House Five Miles Away Was A Man Who Held My Mud-encrusted Charm Bracelet Out To His Wife. Look What I Found At The Old Industrial Park," He Said. "a Construction Guy Said They Were Bulldozing The Whole Lot. They're Afraid Of Sink Holes Like That One That Swallowed The Cars." His Wife Poured Him Some Water From The Sink As He Fingered The Tiny Bike And The Ballet Shoe, The Flower Basket And The Thimble. He Held Out The Muddy Bracelet As She Set Down His Glass. This Little Girl's Grown Up By Now," She Said. Almost. Not Quite. I Wish You All A Long And Happy Life.

His Love For My Mother Wasn't About Looking Back And Loving Something That Would Never Change. It Was About Loving My Mother For Everything -- For Her Brokenness And Her Fleeing, For Her Being There Right Then In That Moment Before The Sun Rose And The Hospital Staff Came In. It Was About Touching That Hair With The Side Of His Fingertip, And Knowing Yet Plumbing Fearlessly The Depths Of Her Ocean Eyes.

I Mean, If I Went Into My Closet, I Could Find A Previous Draft And Try To Figure That Out, But It Takes A Long Time For Me To Find The Voice To Tell A Story In. I Was Working From Other Points Of View For A Couple Years There.