The Possession

Thirty-five is not the first draft of being a human. There are editorial marks in your margins.

She considered throwing the phone to the ground, stamping on it. But what a pain it would be to get a replacement. That's how you know you're a grown-up. You only allow the emotions that are convenient. You carry on.

The problem with seeing a lot of places is they all start to seem the same, especially the ones that are trying to be different.

She stared him down, and in that moment I saw something I recognized from my own childhood. The moment when a long-held power balance shifts, when a kid gets old enough to question whether they actually have to do what a parent tells them, and lets that doubt be known. Puts it right there on the table, where it can’t be ignored. I imagine it’s a strange and perhaps even disturbing moment for a parent, a cold wind blowing across everything that’s come before. Because yes, this is the harbinger of the adult who may one day be looking after you, but wrapped in the disguise of someone who’s still a child: poised on the boundary between one world and another.

I'm fine,"she said, keeping her head down,wiping the back of her hand across her eyes.It was probably too late,but she didn't want him to see she'd been crying.She was fourteen.That's not a child anymore, whatever dumbass old people might think.Parents and teachers,every-one---but friends most of all.All they ever want to do is keep you small. They're scared of who you are becoming. Of what you know.Of who you are.

The lights were low. The music was not. Right now it was Joni Mitchell-who always sounded to Kristy like a cat trying to communicate that it was dying, and said about it.