Jen, We Did It. Everyone's

The Sudden Silence Is Horrifying, And It Seems To Catch My Mother Off Guard. A Tiny Whimper Escapes Her, The Sound Amplified In The Stillness. Surely, My Father Hears Her Now; Surely He And I Can't Go On Pretending She Isn't Crying.

We'll Have A 'rest Of Our Lives' Now.

Unlike My Mother, My Father Does Not Cry Quietly. His Wails Roll Out Like A Wave Of Pain, And I Scramble To Roll Up My Window. My Mother Cannot Hear That. I Cannot Bear To Hear It Myself. I Am Not Used To My Father's Crying. I've Had No Time To Harden My Heart Against Him.

A Thousand Times Today I've Started To Open My Mouth, Started To Squeak Out, "can You Tell Me...? But Then I'd Look Into The Front Seat, At My Mother's Silent Shaking, My Father's Grim Profile, The Mournful Bags Under His Eyes, And All The Questions I Might Ask Seemed Abusive. Assault And Battery, A Question Mark Used Like A Club. My Parents Are Old And Fragile. I'd Have To Heartless To Want To Hurt Them.

Amazing, Yetta Thought. Back Home I Couldn't Have Chosen My Own Husband. And Here I'm Thinking About Choosing Presidents, Governors, Mayors, Laws.