Among all the things I am unqualified to teach a course on: frozen rivers. My mother used to go ice-skating on the damn things. Her mother would drive the car out onto the river first to test the thickness of the ice.
Just over Detroit: Device was on fire in terror suspect’s lap, passengers say.
I come from a dynasty of women who have taken extreme measures to ensure the safety of others. A ton of danger on the ice in order to reassure the children. Talk about overkill _____.
I have lost track of when and whether I am the suspect or the passenger. I am certainly always the witness.
In the bath (over a stack of my favorite books) I realize that I am waiting to be a middle-aged, divorced woman trying to regain her life. Only when I articulate that thought do I understand the irony of the situation. To feel human I want to recognize myself as something the world is always casting aside. I’ve actually only known about those women through pep-talk romantic comedies geared toward them. And perhaps I’ve known through my own mother– who felt circumscribed by those parameters and tried desperately to buck them.
In the bath I remember that when I was a child I always expected to be arrested for a murder that I had committed. Obviously the suspect was a passenger, too. He is a special kind of passenger like a square is a special kind of rectangle.
Similes (which feel like cheating) are evocative but ultimately a form of cheating.
I want my adult children to be a little shocked by my sexuality. I want my friends to think I’m fierce. I want to be whole. But at 25, I am my only child.
Those women have done it all and have earned a selfish moment. A whole selfish decade. I don’t even want that. I want cohesion throughout. I want to remember whether I was the suspect or the passenger. I literally cannot remember whether I was the one to try a new type of explosive. It seems unlikely.
I nearly make it out of the house a step at a time. I nearly cross the street, the city line, the river. I successfully navigate the floes against the curb and then turn abrubtly in the center of the crosswalk to return home.