The one thing my mom’s told me over and over and over for years is I will never leave you. I will always be right here. My mother might be a lot of things, but she isn’t a liar. This has to be a horrible mistake, a time warp of some sort, and it’ll be over soon. It just can’t be real: a life of locked cabinets and refrigerators, bars on the window. Sweatshirts and creamed corn on plastic plates.
