Rogerson," I Asked Him Sweetly As We

But God!who Could Live Like This , Anyway, With The Kind Of Guesswork That Was Enough To Make A Person Crazy, Just Sailing Along, Taking Bumps Here And There, No Course Navigated Whatsoever, With Any Big Wave Capable Of Just Tipping And Sinking You Entirely. It Was Madness, Stipidity, And- (then I Saw Him)

Now, Now," My Father Said. "let's Just Get The Bags." This Was Typical. My Father, The Lone Male In Our Estrogen-heavy Household, Had Always Dealt With Any Kind Of Emotional Situation Or Conflict By Doing Something Concrete And Specific. Discussion Of Cramps And Heavy Flow At The Breakfast Table? He Was Up And Out The Door To Change Oil On One Of Our Cars. Coming Home In Tears For Reasons You Just Didn't Want To Discuss? He'd Go Make You A Grilled Cheese, Which He'd Probably End Up Eating. Family Crisis Brewing In A Public Place? Bags. Get The Bags.

Like A Word On A Page That You’ve Printed And Read A Million Times, That Suddenly Looks Strange Or Wrong, Foreign. And You Feel Scared For A Second, Like You’ve Lost Something, Even If You’re Not Sure What It Is.

Sometimes. It Was A Good Escape. Until, You Know, It Wasn‟t.

Sometimes Things Don't Turn Out The Way You Want Them To, Haven. Sometimes The People You Choose To Believe Are Wrong.