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Fresno, 1952: The poor minister, his frugal wife, and growing family.
47.53.59
She invoked their names, Daddy and Peter, and she’d threatened before to kill herself to be with them. Now she wants to take us all. She might actually mean to do what she says this time. And then I’m instantly angry. It never stops—her suicide threats, now her threats to kill me. She can’t take it anymore and I can’t either. I’m shouting, “Go ahead. Do it. Do it right now.” And I realize too late I might actually die. I just egged her on and she won’t be able to back down. She’s breathing harder, pumping up her chest. She’s actually going to do it. It’s in her eyes. I’m going to die. It’s the
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47.53.59
When it was over, I was self-conscious that I had done this emotional striptease in front of a bunch of strangers. They didn’t know anything about me—that I was sixteen when this happened, that my father and older brother had died the year before, that my mother had gone crazy and taken us to Europe to escape a curse, that we lived in Switzerland in a Bavarian chalet with gorgeous views of a lake ringed by mountains, that she had been shouting at me for days over my boyfriend, a German Army deserter, unemployed hippie, who did drugs and was suicidal. They didn’t know that my mother had
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