A Line We Won’t Forget
“Do you think ugliness skips generations?” my objectively gorgeous daughter mused. “I can’t birth an ugly baby.” As with a middle school crush, I hang onto every outrageous thing she says, even when her proclamations are biting, implying that I am ugly and may have cursed her with bearing a future Medusa. I take solace that she feels secure enough to share her stream of consciousness — and pleasure, also, in never letting her forget her hilarious and hurtful hyperbole by emblazoning T-shirts for our family with the line “Ugliness skips generations.” — May Taylor Doherty
Hoping for an Appetite Again
The chef always came home with pan de cristal and citrus, food that makes kitchens feel alive. I was so depressed, even fresh bread hurt my teeth. He offered sustenance, patience, a future. I brought only sex and chaos. He kept bringing bread and oranges, and I kept letting them go bad. “I can’t hold anything down,” I said. Eventually, even a dog stops waiting at the door. The chef was the best thing to walk into my life at the exact moment I couldn’t receive it. I hope someone else is eating warm bread at his table now. — Chelsea Frank
Laughing Hate Away
“Pray the gay away,” my nephew said as we burst into laughter. We sat together on the worn couch. He had been tortured in conversion therapy, despite me begging for it to stop. “The therapist is trying to ‘make me normal,’” he said, voice cracking. I wrapped my arms around his adolescent frame, squeezing him in a hug, longing for his freedom to text a crush, to love a boy. Pulling the blanket over his shoulders, I tried to protect him from the world. “They’re nuts,” he said, laughing, showing me how humor can be strength in hostility’s face. — Melissa Garner Lee
A Need That’s Just Enough
She said: “I’ve never met anyone like you.” “I’m a better person for knowing you.” “You’re a good kisser.” But she also said, “When you talk about love, I feel overwhelmed.” Oops! You’ve scared her. She has spent the past decade losing the only two men whom she ever loved. You’re 83; she’ll lose you, too. “In our culture, the ‘L word’ is a mess. It’s so needy,” you said. “What do you need from me?” she replied. You thought for a while. “Do you trust me?” you finally asked. “Of course,” she said. And that is enough. — Robert Pyke
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