My friend asked the question out of the blue. I was spending the night with my friend, Larry, and I was lying on a twin bed in the corner of his room.
“What do you think about your mom being gone?” he asked.
It didn’t strike me as a difficult or important question, but something about the experience has burned everything about it into my memory. I was about 10 or 11 years old. Although my mother had been away from us off and on for years, the divorce had been final only for a year or two. She had no custody or official visitation.
I considered Larry’s question for a long moment. I felt very cold. Very hard. There was no emotion in my voice.
“I couldn’t care less if she moved to the Sahara Desert,” I said.
That’s all I said and Larry didn’t ask any more. It’s a good thing, because I might have cried if he had pushed to know what I meant. I was confused. I couldn’t tell if I felt nothing or if I felt more than I could handle. I swept the feelings under a rug in my heart — and I left them there.

Sad, but true: Neither Ron Paul nor any libertarian has chance to win
China’s one-child policy: Unintended consequences on a grand scale
Which side should we take in Syria? Let’s just mind our own business
As world spirals toward chaos,
How do we often know things which we shouldn’t really know?
We often act like madmen who’re eagerly bent on self-destruction
Finding joy brings more happiness than the empty pursuit of pleasure
Family seemed perfectly typical, but I felt envious of their lives