My Parents Told Us To Get Lost In The Snow Until My Phone Started Ringing

it, simply tired.

My father sat in the corner in a wrinkled suit, the architecture of his authority gone, an old man in a bad chair who had run out of the things that had made him what he was.

He said I had come. His voice cracked on it, and I think he meant for the cracking to be an appeal.

I told him I had not come for him. I told him I had come because continue reading …