He always encouraged her to take pride in their small two-bedroom apartment. He'd tell her people in mansions were in mansions because they knew how to take care of themselves and they deserved to take care of the expensive marble in their foyer. He'd say, "People in messy trailers belong there. Of course they're not successful. They can't even take care of a tiny little single-wide." She was proud of the life they made.
She scoots closer to me on the couch and puts her hand on my hand and rests her chin on my shoulder. This is new for her and it took no small amount of therapy to get her here. She knows I need it, this sort of affection, and she’s trying so hard and for that I appreciate her. There’s no way to tell her how forced it feels. I smile in her direction then lean forward to drink the rest of my wine, taking my hand away as I do it.
Pronghorn As a kid, I was a hell-raiser. I don’t know why; I just was. My folks didn’t know what to do with me. I didn’t have any friends. I flunked out of school. Girls wouldn’t come near me. The only thing I could do …
