“Just like that, with one phone call, she was a daughter again.”

“She doesn’t return my phone calls. I’d like them back, unopened.”

“He shoved the phone at her again. “What does this do?” Hand shaking, she took it from him. “Um. It’s called a Smartphone. You can talk to people or send messages. It’s got Internet too.” She pointed to a collection of funny looking symbols on the glossy surface. Inter-net. Is that used for some sort of fishing? And why is the phone called smart? Were prior ones stupid?”

“The daughter wants to turn the past on its back like a turtle or a roach, leaving those legs walking futilely through air cheering on those starved and paralyzed years. The mother put her makeup on, got ready for work, while cigarettes burned down, one by one in the chipped, red ashtray. The daughter stood beside the blaring alarm clock and shook the mother's sleeping body who worked sixteen hours a day and called the daughter and son from pay phones between jobs. When the mother found the daughter on the lawn of the mental hospital playing Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star on her harmonica the mother couldn't believe it, because she was gone the years that led to it. When they finally came together, they came together as guilty mother and guilty daughter and found there was nothing there to trade.”

“I stared at the couch with revulsion. "She's someone's daughter, Travis. What if, down the line, someone treats your daughter like that?""My daughter better not drop her panties for some jackass she just met, let's put it that way.”

“She had started driving past his apartment to see whether or not his car was out front. She had looked up his phone number, and twice she had called his apartment from the pay phone in school, knowing he wouldn’t be at home, just so she could hear how sexy his voice sounded on his answering machine. Was this what falling in love was supposed to feel like?”