January 17, 2020 | Fiction
Laura Huey Chamberlain
By now I have learned that sometimes, as Tricia pummels away at the backs of my thighs, I can tolerate a memory or two of George.
In that moment through blinding lights and pelting rain, I saw the police telling my parents what I’d done.
This was months ago. April, maybe May. The weather was foggy. So was my brain. I saw you again in... more