The man who had changed my diaper was also a brutal killer. A mass murderer–who was proven guilty but not convicted yet–was who taught me how to p...e standing up. The FBI put mom and me into a hotel, in another city, far from home, on Christmas day. I fuckin’ hate Christmas. Really fuckin’ hate it. From what we learned later, apparently Dad ran to his ‘friends’ and they needed all that knowledge he still had in his head. Computer passwords, account numbers, and the digital locations where he had. Carapaces painted in bright swirls of color extracted from walnuts, alder bark and meadowsweet flowers, factotums stood around them in attendance. The girls had decided to individuate the automatons a few weeks ago, an idea that had never entered Zuri’s or my head when we were children.A tiny repeated vibration buzzed the back of my scalp, causing me to reflexively look up from my position under the fig tree, peering through its leafy dark green branches to the city above. Mother, I. More

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