Dad and I were going for a run, right here. Saturday morning. A hot one. I took off my T-shirt. My heart, kicking under a gray sports bra. Wind graced my stomach, shoulders and arms as I tried to steady my breath, I could feel the wings of me unfold. He told me to put my shirt back on. I felt like he hated me. I hated this me too. I spit mucus on the hot sidewalk and let him run ahead. With my furnace eyes, I yelled: You wanted to be a chef but the condom broke, now I’m here.
