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“This is probably as much about me as about my mom.” Cory’s next message came around ten o’clock at night as I was walking down 14th Street, getting some of the restless energy out. I stepped closer to the edge of the sidewalk, almost leaning against the closed metal shutters of a flower shop, to read her message. “My mom was born in Manhattan, was an only child, went to Manhattan Community College, and according to my grandparents, had always just wanted to be a mom. My grandparents were in their seventies when mom passed away, and they had retired and moved up to the Poconos a few years earlier, so I didn’t have a ton of time with them. My grandfather passed away when I was nine, and my grandmother followed a year later, but I remember them saying this to me many times, that she just wanted to be a mom, that was the job she wanted. I don’t remember her myself, I honestly don’t. Considering the reasons why Ryland came to see you, I’m assuming you know about the really creepy ‘shh, mommy is sleeping’ story that to me sounds worthy of some horror movie. But I have no memory of this. I know a lot of things about her from my brothers. Dad was never much of a talker. At least twice a year, on her birthday and on the anniversary of her death, we…
X-Periment, X-Pression, X-Perience
Multi-genre author writing short and serial fiction. Romance, transgressive fiction, sizzling spice, humor, and memoir content on the menu.