The Unmaking of June Farrow

by Adrienne Young

I suspected that the ache of missing her would mostly come from those little things. The holes that were left behind, empty places I’d stumble upon now that she was gone.

It was as good a place as any to end a story. I wasn’t the first Farrow, but I would be the last.

Those embers of memory were glowing now, and I was terrified of the moment they would reignite, like they’d burn all of me down if they could.

Their conversations grew louder as the song drew on, and I couldn’t stop thinking that where we stood was the center of something, a place that created the kind of gravity that made galaxies.

And I didn’t think there was any way to ever come back from that explosion of light that had birthed a universe inside of me when she said that word. Mama.