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CHAPTER ONE
When i was ten, my dad, Pat Wilson, joked that I should’ve had my tear ducts re from I used to cry all the time I cried when my crayons broke I cried when I lost the red bow that was tied around my favorite stuffed bear I cried when I broke the back door to the garage Dad see to cry over that one, too Hara, you’re eight How in the hell did you pull the door off its hinges?
I can’t re when I was ten is still vivid in my memory Why that’s the memory of my childhood that has stuck with lue My ele bee, tuckingI had peanut butter s irl on the sarade heart, and then this one I’d like to say that these past hurts stung and I moved on, but I can recall the day with perfect clarity It was sunny and the school ter summer break and perhaps that e were testy with one another During recess, a couple of stupid kids asked if my face was flat because I’d fallen off the monkey bars and landed facedown One, I had never fallen off the e ten and I could fly across those da my face is too round My chin is curved and my cheeks are plump I don’t have a pro It’s an Asian thing
Even though I knew this, I felt ashamed of my face and so I cried because that’s what ten-year-olds do when their feelings are hurt The tears bothered my dad
Hara, are you seriously crying because so deal? Hara, tears aren’t going tofun of you Ellen, tell her to stop crying
He wasn’t wrong Crying didn’t change anything, and a year later, my tear ducts closed up and haven’t worked since—not even at times when they should, such as when the hero or heroine dies in a book after you were pro or when Allie re the stories to her in The Notebook or when I’ in the funeral parlor with my dad’s body in a casket next door
Even if I could produce tears on command, there isn’t much to cry about today Dad and I hadn’t had much of a relationship since I was eleven and he’d decided that the fatherhood experi hi boys’ trips to places he couldn’t afford, shacking up olad he’d kept his distance, because any interaction between the We once joked she cried enough for two people, but it wasn’t just a joke She wished I would cry more and I wished she would cry less I’d turned into
“Drink this You look thirsty” Mo into my hand
“I’ in my mouthin a box in the next room, but all the prep work for the deceased is done in this very building I’d rather eat est this funeral food
“You haven’t eaten or drunk anything all day I understand if your stomach is upset, but at least put some liquids in you”
I pretend to sip because getting into an argument over a cup of hot water at a funeral doesn’t seeive in
“Your eyeliner is sed”
That’s froht produce tears It didn’t, even though it hurt Mos it underneath ain and had dirt smeared on my face Her action leaves an uncomfortable wet spot above my cheek that I itch to wipe off, but because I don’t want her to feel rejected, I let e