“when you turn thirteen and want to paint your nails black I’ll rummage through an old drawer and give you my own polish. when you look at me and say, “momma, I’m lost.” I’ll turn you towards the mirror and say, “run darlin’, don’t ever let them find you.” when the first day of high school comes and you hurry to get out of the car with nerves in hand I’ll tell you, “don’t run, walk slow. you’ll make it through.” when you go on your first date I’ll remember my first date. I’ll remember the look on my own mother’s face when he didn’t open my car door and baby, if he doesn’t open the car door remember your momma saying, “he doesn’t get to open anything else either.” one day that boy will break your heart and when you lock yourself in your room I’ll buy you a journal, a brand new pen, a 2 liter of strawberry soda and a potted violet with a note saying something like, “white oleanders are poisonous and so is heartache. violets symbolize something that I’ve since forgotten and strawberry soda drowns the salt in your tears.” one day you’ll pack your things, I’ll write you letters and send you candles in the mail. you’ll marry young or maybe old. you’ll have a daughter of your own and watch the sun rise in her eyes. just remember to never look up what violets symbolize and when she looks at you with tears in her eyes saying, “momma, I’m lost.” turn her towards the mirror and say, “run darlin’, don’t ever let them find you.””

“You will be out with friends when the news of her existence will be accidentally spilled all over your bar stool. Respond calmly as if it was only a change in weather, a punch line you saw coming. After your fourth shot of cheap liquor, leave the image of him kissing another woman in the toilet. In the morning, her name will be in every headline: car crash, robbery, flood. When he calls you, ignore the hundreds of ropes untangling themselves in your stomach: You are the best friend again. He invites you over for dinner, say yes too easily. Remind yourself this isn’t special, it’s only dinner; everyone has to eat. When he greets you at the door, do not think for one second you are the reason he wore cologne tonight. Someone told you once, a soul mate is not the person who makes you the happiest, but the one who makes you feel the most. Who conducts your heart to bang the loudest, who can drag you giggling with forgiveness from the cellar they locked you in. It has always been him. In his kitchen, he will hand-feed you a piece of red pepper. His laugh will be low and warm and it will make you feel like candlelight. Do not think this is special. Do not count on your fingers the number of freckles you could kiss too easily. Try to think of pilot lights or olive oil, not everything you have ever loved about him, or it will suddenly feel boiling and possible and so close. You will find her bobby pins lying innocently on his bathroom sink. Her bobby pins. They look like the wiry legs of spiders, splinters of her undressing in his bed. Do not say anything. Think of stealing them, wearing them home in your hair. When he hugs you goodbye, let him kiss you on the forehead. Settle for target practice. At home, you will picture her across town pressing her fingers into his back like wet cement. You will wonder if she looks like you, if you are two bedrooms in the same house. Did he fall for her features like rearranged furniture? When he kisses her, does she taste like new paint? You will want to call him. You will go as far as holding the phone in your hand, imagine telling him unimaginable things like you are always ticking inside of me and I dream of you more often than I don’t. My body is a dead language and you pronounce each word perfectly. Do not call him. Fall asleep to the hum of the VCR. She must make him happy. She must be, She must be his favorite place in Minneapolis. You are a souvenir shop, where he goes to remember how much people miss him when he is gone.”