Behind the Venue, My Husband Handed Me a Scrapbook Pulled From the Dumpster

from him before, a register below his normal range, controlled in the way that very intense feelings get controlled when a person has decided to express them precisely rather than loudly. “In the dumpster, Mom,” he said. “You were just what? Reorganizing? In the dumpster?”

Barbara tried the laugh, the social one, the one that dismissed unpleasant things continue reading …