My father was a somniloquist; he only talked to me in his sleep. Lured at night by his one-sided conversation one room over, I would escape the cot I'd grown out of, gaze at my sleeping mother, and ... [+]
Originally published in Creative Nonfiction #65 / Fall 2017 / Science & Religion
It's not difficult to imagine a line. First, close your eyes. Remember when you were a child and noticed everything about the world: the light stretching just so across the baseball field, the white dog fur on the kitchen floor, the map-like lines on your mother's stomach. It can't be that hard to see a line. Open your eyes. Do you see it yet?______Hold it up to the window. To the bedroom lamp. You're searching for light. Take it outside. Squint harder.______Tell your husband, I think I see something. Watch as he squints. I don't see it, he says. Get angry with him. Thi