At some point my mother, probably to comfort me, tells me that there is no good marriage without constant fighting. Fighting is how a husband and wife talk. One time, my father accuses her of running off to be with another man. She laughs at this. Who would I go with? she says. Who would want to be with me in the long run? The shrink says that whenever I go back into the past, I see only the bad. But isn’t that obvious? There is so much bad.
