I don’t know what I’m expecting, but I am not filled with relief. I want to be a saint at that moment. I want to be touched by God’s light. But I’m just a boy and I’m unremarkable. I am probably filled with sin. I am not like my brother. I am not like my father. I know I take after my mother. I know all of them think that I’m feminine and soft, and I know my mother is sending another prayer to God this evening, that I will wake up a brute. Whatever it takes to stay in this city. For some reason, that’s the thing that makes me cry.
