Corrections in Ink: A Memoir

by Keri Blakinger

We moved so much during our time together that we were basically migratory—I can count at least ten apartments in the three years we were together. Sometimes we just took short sublets, sometimes the landlords ordered us to leave, and sometimes we just could not pay rent. We were rarely outright homeless, though; during the semesters that I was in school, my parents took care of rent and tuition. They couldn’t decide for sure whether I was sober, like I claimed, or whether I was actually getting high and they were unwittingly enabling me. Looking back, I don’t think it mattered whether that was enabling—I think it saved my life. School was my last, tenuous connection to any belief in my own future. Without it, I would not have found much reason to live. They never said it, but I think they realized that—just like they probably realized that paying for my apartment was the only way they’d have any idea where I was living or what I was doing.