Excerpts
“I can’t recall half my childhood, yet I remember the details of her with irritating clarity. Blue bubble gum, watermelon flavor. A scratch on her left knee. Cracks in the red lips. One time she had told me that writers write because they don’t have memories of their own, so they make some up.”
Read More“Try as I might to ignore the brown of my hands, it betrayed me as Other constantly in the world of White celebration. I was different; I always knew. I was brown, but there was another difference that I did not share with my brother and sister. I sat at a crossroads: I did not understand myself but wanted to.”
Read More“The rain sounded like applause. Applause is something I can’t hear, but when the whole room begins to vibrate I sense it perfectly, it reverberates in my chest and sets off visions in red. Those hands were clapping to celebrate the rising tension of this perfect family tableau. The grand finale, it seemed, was on the way.”
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