I am six and decaying. The heat’s out, Toronto’s winter is angry, plum-red in its fury, and my dad knocks; he must hear me shivering. I hear the thud of his boots before I see him, all bald and devoted. He glances at me, mutters “Be right back,” and the wobbly house holds its breath as he sprints. ...
“No marriage till you’re 30.”
I was only 17 when I ejaculated into the cup that my future children would be frozen in. I was about to become a mother, whether I wanted to or not.
Solutions by The State News
