The One-in-a-Million Boy

by Monica Wood

Because the story of your life never starts at the beginning.

people like Quinn, always running from themselves, loved the road.

“Cheers,” I imagine. I don’t exactly recall. I remember clinking the wrong sort of glasses and wishing I had the right sort of glasses, and to this day I consider that moment—clink!—as the beginning of our friendship. I’m glad it made a sound.

I was married to Howard for twenty-eight years and yet he made only a piddling dent in my memory. A little nick. But certain others, they move in and make themselves at home and start flapping their arms in the story you make of your life. They have a wingspan.

Can you see the iceberg coming? No one will love you more than they love themselves.