|Bild lånad från bokus,|
finns också på adlibris
kommer på svenska i augusti
My mother has never been normal, but she was better when I was little. I remember running around in play corners like this, singing songs with her or sitting on her lap while she read to me. I run my hands over the soft plush of the panda bears and the smooth plastic of the toy trains, remembering what it was like when bears, trains and moms made me feel safe.
Kan inte låta bli att lägga till en smakbit till där den inte längre så trygga mamman finns med:
“Is that a phone?” I reach for it.
“No!” Mom snatches it away and cradles her body protectively around it. “It’s not for you, Penryn. Not now, not ever.”
My mother has a different relationship with inanimate objects than most of us do. Sometimes, a light switch is just a light switch. Until it isn’t. Out of nowhere, after years of using the same switch to turn on the light, she became convinced that she needed to flip it back and forth to save the city of Chicago. After that, it was just another light switch. Until the day when she needed to flip it back and forth to save New York City.
“What is it?” I ask.
“It’s the devil.”
Fler smakbitar finns hos Mari. Ha en skön söndag ni med :)