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she isn’t the worst. Not that I’ve met
them all, or wanted to. A couple
were prettier on the outside, evil
ugly inside. Zoe tops that list. Not
sure exactly where that puts Mom.
Old pictures I’ve seen at Grandma
and Grandpa Haskins’s house prove
Kristina’s exterior was stunning once
upon a time, in a land before crystal
meth. Amazing how fast that drug
can age you. It’s a zombie, sucking
youth right out of you, lifeblood.
Then again, if she hadn’t fallen
into that lifestyle, she wouldn’t have
met Dad at all. And then there
wouldn’t be me. A perverse question
bubbles up. Perverse, because I know
it’s going to bug Kortni. Like wheezy
me cares. “So, Dad. How exactly
did you and Mom meet?” We’ve never
discussed it. And he doesn’t
really want to now. Um. Why?
You writing an autobiography?
Big word. Wrong word, but big.
“No. That would be your memoir,
not mine. I just want to know is all.”
Oh. Here’s our exit. We’ll talk
about it later, okay? Saved by
Carrows. Lucky Dad. For now.
HOLY CRAP
