Something funny feeling under my breastbone reading this one. Is it recognition? All the way until the last paragraph when Bridget concludes: never return home. My dad didn’t cross-dress but he revealed to my teenage self way more about his secrets than I needed/wanted to know. But my response was to implode and numb, keep up appearances. So I breathe more deeply hearing Bridget’s response.
"He’d remember how she’d stared, and he’d stared and for a split second the alleyway had opened up between them of camping trips and fallout shelters and singing to her when she was little, and then Bridget had broken it, she’d pushed off through the crowd without looking back. Maybe he’d lie there all day thinking about it. Maybe he wouldn’t get up when her mum went off to church, maybe he’d die trapped in that moment like at the end of Superman when General Zod is sent spinning through space forever." I find this passage especially wonderful, the way the whole scene at the club is reprised through Bridget's imagining of what her father would be doing and thinking. The prose feels thickly coiled, and has enough energy to despatch General Zod in that final flourish. Stellar stuff.
The way you stay right with Bridget, insist that I feel her confusion and despair, and not look away—I squirmed. Coming of age is not a phase of life I’m eager to relive. Heaps of compassion for Bridget and admiration for your craft.
Brilliant, a real sense of time gone by, memories that simply won’t stop invading. I’m writing a memoir on my mum so this really resonated with me, something so innocent but also so disturbing
Wow, this definitely brings some reality into her life. I hope she can get talk to someone about it.
Something funny feeling under my breastbone reading this one. Is it recognition? All the way until the last paragraph when Bridget concludes: never return home. My dad didn’t cross-dress but he revealed to my teenage self way more about his secrets than I needed/wanted to know. But my response was to implode and numb, keep up appearances. So I breathe more deeply hearing Bridget’s response.
…this is all to say, THANK YOU. I couldn’t possibly be more engrossed in this story!
❤️
"He’d remember how she’d stared, and he’d stared and for a split second the alleyway had opened up between them of camping trips and fallout shelters and singing to her when she was little, and then Bridget had broken it, she’d pushed off through the crowd without looking back. Maybe he’d lie there all day thinking about it. Maybe he wouldn’t get up when her mum went off to church, maybe he’d die trapped in that moment like at the end of Superman when General Zod is sent spinning through space forever." I find this passage especially wonderful, the way the whole scene at the club is reprised through Bridget's imagining of what her father would be doing and thinking. The prose feels thickly coiled, and has enough energy to despatch General Zod in that final flourish. Stellar stuff.
Thank you
Brilliant. As per usual. Oh, Bridget. Learning how complex life truly is is such a wild ride.
The way you stay right with Bridget, insist that I feel her confusion and despair, and not look away—I squirmed. Coming of age is not a phase of life I’m eager to relive. Heaps of compassion for Bridget and admiration for your craft.
You made me remember General Zod's awful punishment, captured in a sheet of glass, presumably for eternity.
The next twist is whether Janet already knows. I'll keep my opinion to myself.
Brilliant, a real sense of time gone by, memories that simply won’t stop invading. I’m writing a memoir on my mum so this really resonated with me, something so innocent but also so disturbing
So happy to hear it resonated