And it wasn’t so much my father-in-law’s death that affected me, but rather the loss of his words, In all my born days, his turns of phrase, Well, I happen to be rather good at that, and his thick, spit-filled tone.
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She didn’t check the expiry date on the medication she started taking the day of the funeral.
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She lived in her body as though it were an infested house, as if she had to tiptoe through it trying not to touch the floor.
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An image poisons you: the eyes of an owl, and just like that, it’s too late. I push her up against the wall, undo her bun with my teeth and strangle her with my kisses.
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A radiologist who graduated from the public university, class of ’83.
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How is it possible for my mother-in-law to speak so softly, walk so neatly, be so proper, and yet offer Prozac to a mother-to-be.
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How is it possible for my mother-in-law to speak so softly, walk so neatly, be so proper, and yet offer Prozac to a mother-to-be.
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I don’t like antidepression.
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I don’t like antidepression.
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I yell at them in public. I like to make a scene, humiliate them, show them how cowardly they are. Because that’s what they are: chickens.