Jen, We Did It. Everyone's Free Now.

The Sudden Silence Is Horrifying, And It Seems To Catch My Mother Off Guard. A Tiny Whimper Escapes Her, The Sound Amplified In The Stillness. Surely, My Father Hears Her Now; Surely He And I Can't Go On Pretending She Isn't Crying.

Jen, We Did It. Everyone's Free Now.

A Thousand Times Today I've Started To Open My Mouth, Started To Squeak Out, "can You Tell Me...? But Then I'd Look Into The Front Seat, At My Mother's Silent Shaking, My Father's Grim Profile, The Mournful Bags Under His Eyes, And All The Questions I Might Ask Seemed Abusive. Assault And Battery, A Question Mark Used Like A Club. My Parents Are Old And Fragile. I'd Have To Heartless To Want To Hurt Them.

The Deadlines Are Much, Much Longer With Books. When I Was A Reporter, A Lot Of Times I'd Come In At 8:30 A.m., Get An Assignment Right Away, Interview Somebody, Turn The Story In By 9:30, And Have The Finished Story In The Paper That Landed On My Desk By Noon.

Sometimes I Can Spend As Long Revising A Manuscript As I Spent Writing It In The First Place.