Your dad, Lia asked, was he good?
He swallowed. Her eyes fixed on his Adam’s apple. It slid up his throat and back down as if propelling his answer out; Not really. Not for most of his life. I think he became good, though. Eventually…
So what changed? she asked.
On my eleventh birthday, he came into my room trembling.
Why?
He said he’d seen something, felt something. An experience.
Of what? Lia asked.
God.
Lia held her breath…
Have you had one? he asked. She wondered why this seemed suddenly like the most intimate question anyone had ever asked her. Why something was squirming and flipping and tangling within her like a silver fish caught slyly in the coarse nylon of a net. For she had hoped very privately all her life for a dazzling numinous moment – because how easy it would be to believe, she thought, when given a sign like that.
I don’t know, she said, honestly. Either I’ve had thousands or none…
There was a silence.
— Maddie Mortimer, Maps of Our Spectacular Bodies (Picador; March 31, 2022)
Notes:
- Photo by DK @ Daybreak. 6:00 a.m. 68° F. September 11, 2022. Cove Island Park, Stamford, CT. See more photos from this morning where I’ve either had thousands or none… here.