Nonfiction

When my mother opened my bedroom door and asked me if I was responsible for the house shaking, my initial hypothesis dissolved the way a spiderweb fissures with the help of a swaying hand.

Instead of heading to the beach, I told my husband we had to stop and search for my good luck charm, a black rubber cat named Bendy Five Percent. I had mistakenly left the replica of my first pet when I emptied my car for trade.

For reasons I still don’t know, Mrs. Lawson took a liking to me when I was around thirteen.