My Last Innocent Year

by Daisy Alpert Florin

I wasn’t a debater by nature and somewhere along the way had come to believe that what I felt, if it couldn’t be articulated or defended, was invalid.

What was wrong with me, I wondered? Why didn’t I react to things the way other people did, in ways that were normal?

Worst of all would be indifference.

Are you real? The words repeated in my head—are you real are you real are you real—and I pressed my knees hard against the cold tile to remind myself I was.

I would soon come to understand that adulthood was exactly this: the constant upending of everything you believed when you were young.

My belief system was fuzzy, even when it came to my own body.

I fell asleep and dreamed I was in Room 203.

What was a promise anyway? Just a string of words. I knew as well as anyone they didn’t always mean something.

The world will not fall apart if you tell the truth.

Times were changing, or maybe it was just me.