I work with words, I depend on them, but I can't find the right ones sometimes, not when I need them badly.
They're good at pretending. They'll bump her along from one grade to the next, while ignoring her anxiety, her disintegrating home, the bullies that wait for her in school corridors. Just as long as she passes, she's ok.
The tree has gone wild, stabbing its branches into the shingles as if it wants to pry the roof off the house.
Many parents forget what it was like to be a child. Without knowing it, they use parenthood as a way of re-enacting their own childhood. They might look to their children for what their parents never gave them. They might imitate their own parents and relish the power they finally have.
She'll try to buy her way into their affection, or at least their sense of obligation.
Two parents, a bassinet between them, stare at the doctor. They want more than his words. They want to read what his face gives away.
A game of Clue that starts with poker-faced "mmm-hmms" and ends with shrieking.