“Notes on a Bruise”
“Frankly, my mother was right: I’m not to be trusted. I’ve always lived my life perched on stools with one eye on the door.”
“Frankly, my mother was right: I’m not to be trusted. I’ve always lived my life perched on stools with one eye on the door.”
“Concrete debris and ash had been swept into small hillocks, like sloppy housekeeping in the aftermath of an atrocity, and it struck me that I’d been counting down to this physical confirmation that I could never come back.”
“Every family is unhappy in its own way and perhaps Arthur and I had chosen adoption as our own particular way to be unhappy.”
“It is because she had a been a tartar that had made her, at times, so difficult to live with, and precisely why she had been so hard to lose.”
“I recognize the irony that our relationship should now be conducted by mail, and this long distance conversation is the only way I know he is still alive.”