Sometimes I know I have been dreaming of my mom even if I can’t remember. My sisters, my aunt. Carcasses in oversized sweaters.
My dad told me about his family for the first time. I had heard bits and pieces from others who knew more, but never from him. His mom had him when she was a teenager and didn’t really want him. She left him in a supermarket. She didn’t reach for him when he sank in a swimming pool. His brothers: schizophrenia, bipolar, one suicided. Scattered throughout the country. His father was an alcoholic. Biologically, I am the end of the line.
My dad told me a story about my sister (his step daughter) in great detail. He told me he was in the station wagon with her and they were driving around the neighborhood where we used to live. He said it was dark and that they…
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