He who leaps for the sky may fall, it's true. But he may also fly.

I want to be healed and whole and perfect again, like a misshapen slab of iron that comes out of the fire glowing, glittering, razor-sharp.

But hope got in, no matter how hard and fast I tried to stomp it out. Like these tiny fire ants we used to get in Portland. No matter how fast you liked them, there were always more, a steady stream of them, resistant, ever-multiplying. Maybe, the hope said. Maybe.

He's stuck with me and I'm stuck with him. We're stuck. That's what growing up is all about, I guess.

Live free or die.

And how she looked at me like I could save her from everything bad in he world. This was my secret: she was the one who saved me

Lindsay calls them the Pugs: pretty from far away, ugly up close.