Deep Cuts

by Holly Brickley

It’s just that authenticity seems to me only one metric by which to judge music, and I don’t see why it should swallow all the other ones, including beauty and fun.

My black jeans absorbed the blood from my knee politely.

Look what I turned that experience into, you could think, if you’d written “A Case of You.” Your pain would have made the world more beautiful, would have made generations of women cry the most cleansing tears, the kind that open floodgates of endorphins when they’re done. You would be forever connected to these women: your people. And your wound would be healed.

Forgiveness, forgiveness: I hadn’t thought of it for myself. The idea seemed so insane I almost laughed. Forgive myself? That crazy bitch?