Midnight Mass

I remember the year I was old enough to go to Midnight Mass. My uncle was in town for Christmas, and he took me -- just me, no siblings -- to the darkest, most mysterious Mass of the whole year. I was probably 10, the youngest of five, and all of my siblings were now... Continue Reading →

Iced Milk

Having contact with people who will listen without trying to convince me that my experience could not possibly have been as bad as I claim, who then have their own stories that line up in tidy parallels to mine makes me feel like I'm suddenly whole, real, verifiable.

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