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.

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Modern obsession with ‘hot girls’ teaches everybody to be shallow
Hope can be dangerous when the path ahead is dark and uncertain
Only through death of empires can something new take their places
Social media can be dangerous for those of us raised by narcissists
It’s hard to ‘get over it’ if pain of abuse turns to rage against self
Everything sounded fair at the time, so why’d I end up paying for it all?
If the truth is blurry in your mind, how can you explain it to others?