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17 The Geometric Progression of Sadness 1 My grandfather wept and paced the floor for weeks after his wife and son died of influenza, leaving him with two young daughters. He wanted to prepare them for life, what he called disappointment, and had them dress for buggy rides, perch excitedly on the wooden seat, then said it was a lesson, go back inside. 2 For a Girl Scout badge I took a candid snapshot of my mother on Saturday morning. She still looks lost there in her dark clothes, eyebrows not yet painted on. She looked to me for the hard pebble she wanted to find in her shoe. Because she was afraid, she could not bear my fears and when I asked not to go to school, she offered, in memory of her mother’s death, to send me away for good. Young_FinalTextRev.indb 17 7/22/19 1:00 PM 18 3 Invisible, my fingers brush the cheek of my older son. He rubs the spot, turning his intensity upon himself. He does not remember the day his dog died, that because he did not cry I yelled at him, some senseless curse I’d heard across the vast continent of childhood. Young_FinalTextRev.indb 18 7/22/19 1:00 PM ...


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MARC Record
Launched on MUSE
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