My sister clapped her hands and said, “Let’s get dressed up like sluts and go to the Beverly Center!” This is how it started. For my thirteenth birthday, my parents had gotten me tickets to fly down to LA. It was my first plane ride by myself. “I’m sure you’ve done this a thousand times,” the stewardess had said when she shepherded me on the flight early, ... [Continue Reading]
The Year We Came Home
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The year I moved back home to California—the year I got sick and resigned, more or less, from life altogether—I had, for the first few months, traveling dreams, the kind that fill your nights when you’re sleeping in a strange bed in a foreign place. I dreamed, mostly, of the makeshift life I had left back in New York City: late winter nights in the ragged bar where I ... [Continue Reading]