No one in my family knew Freddie Gray. Yet each of us drew a composite sketch of the dead man.
You buy a one-way ticket to Beijing, and tell your mother you are traveling alone to figure out if China might be the answer.
How did I come to the point of romanticizing a home I could not even identify?
“It was that closeness that led me to notice the gaps that separated us.”
The day after the election, the last threads of attachment I felt to home frayed and finally broke.
“None of the things we thought were ours actually belonged to us.”