When he picked up the paper, his face broke into sadness, which canceled my anger. In Todd’s psychotically clean bedroom, facing a plastic fan that churned summer through the window, I wanted all the extremes at once: I wanted to die, kill, fuck, find my parents and bring them back to life and then kill them, then bury them and yell and yell. For the first and probably last time in my life, I envied women for being able to give birth. I wanted to fuse myself to somebody else. I wanted to know what it would take for me to give a damn.
