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

without the social buffer she had always maintained between us. “When you played that recording,” she said, “I didn’t want to sink into the floor because you had embarrassed me. I wanted to sink into the floor because you were holding up a mirror, and I recognized the person in it, and I was ashamed of her.”

Silence in the kitchen, the particular silence continue reading …