Tag: writing

  • I forgive you, red-rimmed Erin.

    I forgive you, red-rimmed Erin.

    When I remember your name, I still feel the foot-shaped bruise on my 9-year old stomach. I remember the muffled tears, the bus hopping, and the huddling in the left 12th row seat. Instead, I’d rather recall our time as sisters, cheek-to-cheek during the 40-minute rides on bus 52.