Memoirs

It has been fifteen years since something as simple as the muffled sound of a car engine shutting off in the driveway followed by the metal thud of a closing car door elicited such mixed emotions in me, a combination of anticipatory excitement and quiet dread that only a young

There is a painting that I remember but can’t recall from back when my mother and I used to go to the museum together every Thursday. It was an abstract painting, possibly by Jackson Pollock — I can’t be too sure — but it was stormy and intricate and troubled