In my third year of law school, I began to remember things I had spent most of my life forgetting. My attention fractured into a thousand glass splinters, each one cutting. I was assailed with strange images. With the images came disconnection, as if I was watching what was in front of me on a screen. Then, incongruously, a pervasive sense of threat, the shadows of my apartment stalking me.
On Saturday, not for the first time, my dad offers to buy me a gun. I’m still in my running gear, sitting on my bed, certain I’m leaving sweaty ass-prints on my good quilt, but I’ve got no choice. I have to sit here, crammed against the wall’s one outlet because my phone can’t hold a charge, and I have to call him. He’s my dad, and I want him to make me feel better.
Previous installments in this series can be found here.
There are many ways in which the world has changed in the last century: polio vaccinations, personal computers, removal of anti-miscegenation laws, the new iterations of the endless generational cycle of boy bands required to soothe the Old Ones in their slumber. But perhaps one of the most indicative of how the world has shifted, particularly in the labor market and in publishing, is…