October 19, 2012
No Words Lecture Hall
You’re not the boss of me my son screams. He’s tired, and thirteen, and skidding into my and his sudden strangeness. (Who is this woman who leaves her wine out on the swing, crams wisteria in a drinking glass, can’t find a vase? Who asks him to quit the 80 decibel belching. She has grown foreign, and ridiculous.) He says to me, you embarrass me and he says I don’t want you in my room I want to say, I love you. You’re READ MORE >>
