I wasn’t talking much, I was too preoccupied with distracting myself from the pain, trying to recede further into my thoughts, letting my imaginatio... act as a sort of half-assed diversion. But every once in a while I would turn over and face my mother and she would ask me how I was feeling and I would lie and say it was all right and I could see in her eyes that she could see what pain I was suffering and that she was suffering as well. And I felt ashamed. Shame for being so weak, for needing. We also discussed where we were going."How did you know I wasn't going to some play with my aunt?" It was the excuse I'd fed people when they kept pushing."Easy. She helps set up the food and drinks for every school function." His tone suggested it was obvious.Sure enough, Aunt Claire told me she'd be there all day to help the moms. I told her I wasn't going when she asked if I had a dress or date yet."Why not?" Claire seemed surprised."Dances aren't my thing and I don't dance anyway." That. More

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