![]() ![]() She drags me to the living room where the air conditioner roars like lions. ‘You want privacy, you lock the door.’ She grabs me by the arm. ‘Mom! Privacy!’ A startled roach breaks from behind the pipes and runs across the cracked tile floor, fast and straight like it’s being pulled by fishing line. ![]() I give a yell as my mom bursts in without knocking. Then I pull my lower eyelids down so they glare red. I make a face in the mirror, pulling my lower lip all the way down so the inside shows on the outside. I’m not even asking to be loved back, just to know what it feels like. ![]() There must be someone in New York who … I wish I wasn’t so weird-looking. I’m looking at myself in the bathroom mirror and thinking about love, because I plan on falling in love this summer. From the unpublished memoir by Wilder Harlow June, 1989 ![]()
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