Long Live the Tribe of Fatherless Girls(73)
Truer.
My brother was born on January 27, 1990, in Miami, Florida. Before he was adopted, my parents named him. I was sent to Disney World when he was born, though I will never remember that. Baby boy. Beautiful, I know it. I never got to meet him.
You could have told me, I say now, to my mother, all of this.
My father, he married her. I wore a yellow dress. They kept me.
Son, my father used to say.
There once was a girl on a flying horse and everybody loved her.
That’s the unfinished story.
That’s all.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Billie, it’s with you I start—I didn’t write that, Evan “Billie” Rehill did, and though Evan does not appear in this book, he’s spent years walking me over every bridge in New York to safer places. Thank you, EBR, for the matchbooks, the guts, every rabbit in every hat, and your unwavering belief and love.
To Anne-E. Wood, for teaching me how to draw a house in that first writing class I ever took. I’ve been doing my best to live inside of it ever since.
To Jin Auh, who is so much more than my agent and Spice Girls manager. Since the day we met you’ve reminded me that words are power, and the work you do to translate and advocate for that power is nothing short of sorcery. Thank you for always feeding me sweets, for your great laughs and wisdom. Thank you, too, Alexandra Christie, Jessica Friedman, and the superb Wylie Agency.
To my editor, Callie Garnett. The way you have seen me and this book is a greater magic trick than any deck of I AM’s. Thank you for the privilege of seeing you, too—an acolyte, a poet, a precious stone, a dear friend. This book will always feel like ours. My sincerest gratitude to Barbara Darko, Nancy Miller, Marie Coolman, Cindy Loh, Sarah New, Nicole Jarvis, Laura Keefe, Tree Abraham, and the whole Bloomsbury family, for believing in a book that couldn’t be summarized easily or packaged sweetly.
To those who have provided the time, space, warmth, and support to write these pages, I am so grateful: the MacDowell Colony (my safe haven in the darkest days, and the place this book was born), Hedgebrook, Tin House, Yaddo, New York Foundation for the Arts, the Fine Arts Work Center (who treated a bedfellow like family), Todd Lawton and Jeff LeBlanc, and especially Cynthia LaFave and Paul Rapoli, for providing so many literal and figurative homes for me to write in, and for loving me like your own.
To my beloved teachers, for your friendship and mentorship and words both in and out of the classroom: Suzanne Hoover, Nelly Reifler, Noy Holland, Jo Ann Beard, Lidia Yuknavitch, Jeff Parker, and Claire Vaye Watkins. To Mary Morris, who taught me everything from peeling a potato to structuring a story.
Sometimes we are lucky enough to choose our family. That’s been the case with Ian “PTP” Carlos Mormeneo, Randie Kutzen, Jana Krumholtz, James Question Marks, Marisa Lee, Michaela Basilio Batten, Rick Moody, and Laurel Nakadate, all of whom have stood with me through every fire.
I am so moved each day by the ferocious minds of my No Tokens family, including Rowan Hisayo Buchanan (for all the wonder), Justine Champine and Molly Tolsky (for Taco Trio, the best writing group in history), Annabel Everest Graham (for the saudade), Janelle Greco (for shaking ’em up), Lauren Hilger (for the heat, the poems, the oracles, the girls), Ursula Villarreal-Moura (for never forgetting me), Hannah Mulligan (for the ponies), Leah Schnelbach (couch-mate, soulmate, purple blazer dream machine), Carina del Valle Schorske (for the moves and the nudes), Samantha Turk (for every sacred word), and Scout Woodhouse (for the missives).
To those who have listened, who have supported this book and supported me through the writing of this book by reading drafts and writing blurbs and offering me beds to sleep in and fish to eat, by sending postcards and saying Yes to every long walk and always asking How can I help? when I’ve needed it most, my gratitude is profound and enormous: Benjamin Schaefer, N. Michelle AuBuchon, Chelsea Bieker, Genevieve Hudson, Ruthie Crawford, Tatiana Ryckman, Jonathan Dixon, Mary Gaitskill, Allie Rowbottom, Kristin Dombek, Vincent Scarpa, Adam Dalva, Tony Fu, Shelly Oria, Melissa Febos, Meakin Armstrong, Karissa Chen, Bükem Reitmayer, Che Youn, Alisson Wood, Cal Morgan, Brigitte Hamadey, Jack Woods, Sarah Gerard, Kimberly King Parsons, Alex Marzano-Lesnevich, Julie Buntin, Lauren Groff, Matt Bell, Laura Lampton Scott, Gabriel Jesiolowski, Alexandra Ford, Kyle Kolomona Nakatsuka, and Team Jo Ann Beard. And to those who may or may not appear in this book, who gave me a past and helped me make my way back through it, thank you: Alyssa Banker Hiller, “Gabrielle,” Graham Heyward, Jennifer Abrams, Lisa Mendoza, Karen Purcell, Nicki Alpern, Nicole Polat, Paige Newberry, Maxwell Burns, and Nicole Betty.
To Jac Martinez, for the light and shadows. For leaving flowers on the dashboard.
To John Bean for the French lessons, the metaphors, and for always reminding me that No is a complete sentence. You’ve helped me find and therefore love myself in ways I had forgotten.
Excerpts of this book have appeared in Guernica, Black Warrior Review, Minola Review, and Go Home!, thanks to the generous and vigilant editors who have stood behind my story: Erin Loeb, Hillary Brenhouse, Kayleb Rae Candrilli, Robin Richardson, Jisu Kim, and Jyothi Natarajan. Deep thanks, as well, to the photographers who have allowed me to reprint the moments they’ve captured in these pages: Bob Lasky, Don Seidman, Sherrie Helms Kukulski, and Jac Martinez. Aurore DeCarlo and Team Carrie Goldberg—this book is full of bad guys, but you good ones give me hope. Thank you for your tremendous dedication to justice, to truth, and to my safety during the writing of these pages.