You told me years later that to smoke meth at work, you would lock yourself in the supply closet, stand on top of your cart with a plastic bag, breathe the toxic smoke into it and hold it directly to the air vent. It was one of many rituals you had perfected in hiding your world from me.
That thread from before snags at me, unravels all the way through my chest as the weight sinks in. I can feel the bottom edge of her words, can sense what she might mean. She’s desperately unhappy and can’t find her way out of it.
Larry Brown taught me that it might be possible for someone like me to be a writer. Brown didn’t seem like a natural candidate for a writing apprenticeship, and neither did I.
My own personal experience with women’s care in Eastern Kentucky is pretty much limited to finding birth control as a teen. A friend drove me to the health department, and I ended up with a doc who was the mother of a younger school acquaintance. She was surprised that I was a virgin…
Here’s the thing, I may be an ex-felon, but I still want to smash the fucking patriarchy like all the other feminists.
Thrilled just then, to have a deck beneath my feet again and on a ship that was headed for the ocean sea, I wished above all to simply keep going. Past Hampton Roads, past the Capes and out onto the wide Atlantic to God-knows-where-and-who-the-hell-cares.
“We are house-clearing, baby-blessing, marriage-making, herb-swilling miscreants who answer to our personal ethical codes. We heal, we hex, we dance, we howl.”
The acclaimed journalist Naomi Klein’s latest book is an incendiary balm that strives to unite us against those forces working against our well-being and to offer us hope for our collective future.