Everyone in That House Was Counting on Him Never Walking Again. He Was Hiding the Fact That He’d Started To
What I did not yet know was that she had, without meaning to, given me the truest gift of my adult life.
She had told me the real world was brutal in order to keep me small and grateful and inside her house.
And the moment I stepped past her onto that porch and kept walking, I began, slowly, to find out that the real world was not the thing she’d described.
It was hard, yes.
But it was also the first place in twelve years where my work was seen, and paid for, and thanked — where the difficulty at least belonged to me, and bought me something that was mine.
Florence had meant it as a curse.
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