HOW TO FINALLY LEAVE YOUR ABUSER: THE PSYCHOLOGICAL EDITION
Marisa Crane
Warning: CHOKING HAZARD—Not suitable for anyone who has trouble swallowing... more
Warning: CHOKING HAZARD—Not suitable for anyone who has trouble swallowing... more
Say, “we should start a band.” Get shut down because everyone wants to sing but no one knows how to play guitar.
I wanted them to think that I'd developed some sort of heat resistant super power. "This?" I said. "This is nothing," even as sweat dripped down my forehead and into my eyes.
I am split nails, stubs of my fingers. I am a mouthful of dental picks,
the disposable kinds that clog up the ocean and sea... more
When I was thirty I found my birth mom. I’d written her letters but never sent them.
This is a frontier town. Means it’s small.
Now, if the frontier was moving forward, like they do sometimes, our town might get... more
I had no brothers or sisters, so I received a single white envelope. I took my time opening it. I watched as those around me opened theirs. One of my friends started crying. Breathing deeply, I read mine.
They gather in the basement to weep together like the boys they are.
It’s after midnight and Jason is awake, trying to ignore the suspicion his twin sister is masturbating on the... more
We ate dinner with our heads down masticated silence Mom slathered hot sauce on everything including Dad’s words and the ones he... more
I’ve started to clench my teeth before falling asleep.
A conversation with Patrick Coleman, loosely around his new book, The Churchgoer (Harper Perennial).
This is a story about... more
He was super into God. He was super into church. And he was super into me
after Britney Spears
The camera pans—is this... more
There was a Help Wanted sign at the florists. I had a car, so I walked in and applied. This was a time in my life when I’d decided anyone could do anything. In other words, I was an artist.
He had one of those cool lighters – brushed metal case, tiny chimney with a pattern of holes, bright heat when flint... more
When I was young, I never kept a journal. Instead, my understanding of the world—and myself within in it—got wound up in 500-plus battered tapes that have followed me through life.
We’re practicing doing timed tests for the AP Language and Comp exam, and the prompt Ms. Anniker gives us is “What Are You Proud Of?” I think immediately, “my chin”
"Honestly, I don't care if language overtakes story."
The thing I can't wrap my head around, when it comes to the 2003 Detroit Tigers, is what it must have... more
This was the summer after seventh grade, and all my thoughts were sinful, according to the church. The year before I had confessed all my crimes and a man in hip waders held me under water until all the evil in me had fled the power of Christ’s approach, but now, in the early stages of my adolescence, I was obsessed with the opposite sex.