“What if, when you woke up in the morning, ALL you had LEFT was what you had thanked God for the night before?”

“I had no idea what time I’d left, how I’d gotten home, who’d been up here, and how long he, she, or they had stayed. Another night, added to the hundreds that had gone before, shrouded in mystery. Really, when you thought about it, it was creepy. My own life was a secret to me.”

“I had a dream last night, I was eating a ten pound marshmallow. I woke up this morning and the pillow was gone.”

“No," mom says, looking at me in the eyes. "What's a triumph is that you woke up this morning and decided to LIVE. THAT'S a triumph. that's what you did today.”

“Before I left, I just wanted to say . . . thank you.” It came out a little strangled. I thought about it for a moment. “You’re welcome?” “Do you know what I’m thanking you for?” Damn. I’d hoped he wouldn’t ask that. It couldn’t be for lunch, since we’d never had any. And I guessed we wouldn’t now, what with a possessed fridge and all. “No?” I said, figuring I had a fifty-fifty shot.”

“I woke up one morning to discover I had lost my religous faith, as if it were a suitcase left behind in a distant airport.”