The object of my desire is rarely men like my father, uncle, or the other men in my neighborhood. Cousin Pedro is an exception.
At fifty yards, I wave like I see someone I know. Ten feet away, I flash my pepper spray.
The story affirms our goodness by assuring us we did it on our own. The story tells us to not make waves.
If I collect Oma’s memories, if I truly remember my grandmother, I too can retain what is slipping away.
On Election Night, I thought again of the boy who assaulted me. When had I finally stopped blaming myself?
“I want him to stay as sweet and soft and cute as he is now. He is my baby boy.”
My aunt accused her husband of spousal rape. Less than a year after he was acquitted, he murdered her.
“I am terrified that one day we will not pursue a treatment our son needs because we can no longer pay for it.”
“Have my friends and family been hoping for a new me? Have they all been waiting for a transformation?”