The door to the dorm at the end of the hall was decorated with just my name and opened to two empty bunks, desks shoved into opposite corners, and twin dressers topped with mirrors blackening at the edges, softening the hard angles into curves.
We were pale, skinny, brunette, and more clever than cute. I think sparks actually flew when Jodie and I made nice—fire cried tears as her braces struck my smiley-face choker, when she slammed her angry, forward-facing vision into my own go-with-contempt momentum.
Thing From Your Memoryhttps://i0.wp.com/barrenmagazine.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/11/mane12.jpg?fit=1920%2C1284&ssl=119201284Holden WrightHolden Wrighthttps://secure.gravatar.com/avatar/1635b54b69af3e80349abfb83c29366c?s=96&d=mm&r=g
The day I lost my mind, I stepped into my clip-in biking shoes, and sailed through the morning like a rock through a window, determined to bike to work despite the cold. From there, my memory of the morning came to me from my husband, Joey, who heard it from the ambulance staff who heard it from first-hand witnesses, a hit-and-run that might have left my brains smeared along the crosswalk if not for my helmet.