I think I’m starting to understand why you left.

12 Jul

“Even If You Were Here” by Angi Becker Stevens grabs you with the first sentence and doesn’t let up until she breaks your bones with the last (the following excerpt is not the last sentence).

In my head, I’m trying to imagine myself as separate from the rest of them, from my brother and my sister and my mom and even my father, even though I can’t remember what his voice sounded like or how it felt to rush back toward him when he tossed me in the air. But they’re like parts of my skeleton. My brother is my ribs and my sister is my collarbone and my mom is my ankles and my father is my tailbone, that useless part of you that hurts like hell when you fall on it. Sometimes, I think I understand why Peter felt like he had to put oceans between us. I like to picture him waking up in his cramped tent somewhere and stretching his arms and legs and knowing that his aching bones are all his.

Read it over at The Collagist.

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