“he wasn't who I thought he'd be. Mum stroked my hair and said, "Sometimes they aren't. Sometimes they make you vomit."This did not comfort me.”

“I didn’t tell her what I’d done; I told her he wasn’t who I thought he’d be. Mum stroked my hair and said, "Sometimes they aren’t. Sometimes they make you vomit.”

“Do you ever hear from yourdad?’ I ask.‘Uh-uh. Mum said they had the biggestfight before he left. She was sixteen and telling him about me and he left a dad shaped hole in the wall.”

“He's one of the good guys,' she always said.'Just sometimes he's working undercover”

“This did not comfort me.”

“I like that about art, that what you see is sometimes more about who you are than what's on the wall.”

“What's up with you?" "I'm grounded," I say, just to say something real. "I told Mum to fuck off." He whistles. "Why'd you tell her that? Any other 'off' leaves room for parole. 'Sod off,' 'shove off'—even 'sock off' is still pretty satisfying." "You've told your dad to sock off?" "Once. He said, 'What the fuck is "sock off"? Be a man and tell me to fuck off.'" "So did you tell him?" "No. Because that was the trap. There's never time out for good behavior with 'fuck off.”