September 2, 2007
It felt like we were in a warehouse, the fluorescent lights and the white-white walls, I felt exposed. I was glad to be short, young, a kid, excusable in being dragged along by my motherís devotion to the Lotus of Buddha. Her leather purse, the one with flowers stamped along the lip, held her prayer book and the bead strand, along with her discount cigarettes, steak colored lipstick, and the keys to other peopleís houses. Later Iíd have to haul the vacuum out of the Corolla and listen to her complain about her bad back while she cleaned those houses.