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262 pages, Paperback
First published October 3, 2017
“Do you ever worry,” she asked me, “that you’re the madwoman in the attic?”
“We have never fucked with such urgency as we do in these weeks, but she is fading more and feeling less. She comes infrequently.”
– A wife, he says, should have no secrets from her husband.
– I don’t have any secrets, I tell him.
– The ribbon.
– The ribbon is not a secret, it’s just mine.
“I choose this life,” the prostitute says to the social worker. “I do. Please put your energy into helping girls who aren’t here by choice.” She is so right. She is murdered anyway.
"What is worse: being locked outside of your own mind, or being locked inside of it?" pg. 215
"A wife,” he says, “should have no secrets from her husband.”
“I don’t have any secrets,” I tell him.
“The ribbon.”
“The ribbon is not a secret; it’s just mine.”
“A wife should have no secrets.”
My nose grows hot. I do not want to cry.
“Why do you want to hide it from me?”
“I’m not hiding it. It just isn’t yours.” pg. 24
“I drank water and set up my tent and began to make lists. Every teacher beginning with preschool. Every job I’ve ever had. Every home I’ve ever lived in. Every person I’ve ever loved. Every person who has probably loved me. Next week, I will be thirty. The sand is blowing into my mouth, my hair, the center crevice of my notebook, and the sea is choppy and gray. Beyond it, I can see the cottage, a speck on the far shore. I keep thinking I can see the virus blooming on the horizon like a sunrise. I realize the world will continue to turn, even with no people on it. Maybe it will go a little faster.” pg. 48
I have heard all of the stories about girls like me, and I am unafraid to make more of them.
"Why do you want to hide it from me?"
"I'm not hiding it. It just isn't yours."
There was no way for me to tell her that we are so close, we are so close, please don't do this now, we are so fucking close.
Soon, I'll be nothing more, too. None of us will make it to the end.
"You are unwanted," I say.
"Do you ever listen to yourself? This is crazy, that is crazy, everything is crazy to you. By whose measure?"