My daughters and I once laughed about how many wholly negative words begin with the letter D. We made a game of listing them. Disgusting, deranged, dangerous, defective, dead. That’s why I named this person D. I’m not laughing.
March 31, 2006
March 30, 2006
69/365 Victor
An older family member by marriage, he was magnanimous and fun. Our last words to each other were “I love you.” I wish I could erase the image of him on the swimming pool diving board–tall, drunk and naked.
March 29, 2006
68/365 Kevy
If you want to improve your reflexes, share an office with a sports editor. For three years I typed with one hand and fielded balls with the other. Today, I type with two hands—faster, but not nearly as entertaining.
March 28, 2006
67/365 Mary Jane
She married a paraplegic at 19, then earned a Ph.D. I photographed her reclining on her couch, a large, pretty white woman, her black son happily cuddling with her—one of ten special-needs children she and her husband had adopted.
March 27, 2006
66/365 The Neighbor
I loved the animals he destroyed. His dogs came to me for soft hands, but I couldn’t save them from his empty heart. My own Music, our children’s sweet guardian, disappeared. I’m told the son of a bitch shot him.
March 26, 2006
65/365 Frances
Frannie is my middle stepdaughter. She spent her 15th summer with us, playing guitar with me and singing Dylan and Baez. I had hand-tamed the birds, and she thought the sight of them on my arms and shoulders was miraculous.
March 25, 2006
64/365 Kent
Kent read bestsellers with a dictionary. Seventeen, I tried not to see that, focusing instead on his stunningly muscular height. I also refused to see his weirdness, a family trait. When I finally saw everything, he gave me a concussion.
March 24, 2006
63/365 Linda
A former Rockette, Linda could press elevator buttons with her foot. As my matron of honor, she firmly relieved me of the notion that married life for a woman consisted of lounging around posing fetchingly in slinky white peignoir sets.
March 23, 2006
62/365 Howie
Howie was my sidekick in childhood, before we grew up enough to realize that gender made a difference. We specialized in puppet shows and cowboy costumes. When my mother miscarried, I called Howie to come and see my embryonic sibling.
March 22, 2006
61/365 Mrs. Marsico
Mrs. Marsico taught Merchandising, a course I never thought I’d have to take in high school. Her voice and smile soothed me. She was a steadying influence when I felt I was in the process of ruining everything around me.
